


Thor Good Friend

by Rerin



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Hulk (Marvel) Feels, Hulk Sex (Marvel), Hulk Smash (Marvel), Hulk Talks (Marvel), Hulk in a hot tub, It's in my brain, M/M, Obedience Disks, Smart Hulk (Marvel), Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Thor: Ragnarok (2017) Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-03-03 18:34:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 35
Words: 95,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13347099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rerin/pseuds/Rerin
Summary: Hulk beat Thor. Hulk take Thor home. Thor make Hulk angry. Then, Thor become Hulk's friend.(basically a story about all the things that could have happened between Hulk & Thor in the middle of Thor: Ragnarok.)





	1. A thumbs-up, thumbs-down situation

**Author's Note:**

> I looked forever for a fanfic like this, and couldn't find one, so I'm writing it myself.

Boom. Fight over. The Hulk had just come down on his opponent with the force of a meteoric freight train. And as he felt his victim's body crumple and conform to the shape of his fist, Hulk knew: fight over. 

This fight had been different from all the others. Not because of the crater he’d made in the ground, not because of the unhinged roaring of the crowd, not even because of the way the foundations of the arena seemed unsettled by the shock of the battle. This time, it was different because Hulk knew his challenger. And Thor was… friend. 

Hulk grit his teeth, frowning between great grunting breaths as the dust settled. Somehow, recognizing Thor, and something about that word friend, made it impossible for Hulk to feel good about his victory. Winning was good, Hulk knew, because it Felt Good—the Grandmaster had taught him that, thoroughly. But not this time. Looking down at the beaten corpse of Thor, Hulk felt… certainly not bad, just differently angry. 

It was a darker feeling of anger, dark and deep and heavy and not at all the sort of blazing ballistic rage the Hulk was used to. A word for the feeling rose from the depths of his mind: Shame. 

“Wow. What a finale. I was on the edge of my seat there. Well folks, I guess that wraps it up—” The towering projection of the Grandmaster was talking now, addressing the crowd, saying something about souvenirs, and that’s when Hulk noticed a faint sputter from Thor’s chest.

“Thor not dead?” Hulk hoped aloud. He reached down with one meaty hand and scooped Thor up from the bottom of the crater, carrying him over to a flatter, cleaner area before laying him down again. An astonished hush, followed by riotous speculative chatter, rose from the crowd. 

“And don’t forget our collectible mugs, you’re gonna want one of these things—” the Grandmaster was saying, before noticing that he’d lost the crowd’s attention. “What’s this? Is he still alive—he’s still alive down there? Ladies and Gentlemen, I’m just getting confirmation of this now—yes, yes, it’s true, the Lord of Thunder is still alive!” 

A deafening cheer erupted in a fresh tsunami of noise, and Hulk briefly wished he could smash the sound itself into oblivion. Hulk was getting angrier now—with his regular form of anger. 

“Oh goody. This is just great,” continued the pixelated projection. “He’s totally unconscious, but that’s no big deal, now we can do my favorite thing—one of those, thumbs-ups, thumbs-down situations, should he Live or Die, leeeet’s find out!!!” 

Up in the exclusive viewing booth, the Grandmaster turned off the device that projected his image and turned to address his favored guests. “We can leave the crowd in suspense for a minute here. Savor this delicious dilemma. Tell me, what are your thoughts? Should we keep this Lord of Thunder on the books, or make his skull another trophy for our beloved Champion? I’m looking for input here. You know I value your ideas, so let me hear it—yea or nay?” He looked over to the golden ladies, who seemed only slightly less bored than usual. “Ladies? That adorable Lord of Thunder, Lives or Dies, what do you think?” One lady looked coolly at her nails. The other gave the merest shrug. 

On the other end of the couch, sitting (quite on purpose) as far away from the mercurial Grandmaster as possible, Loki bit his lip, thinking quickly. 

“Come on, don’t be shy—” said the Grandmaster, still scanning the room and motioning encouragingly for people to give him feedback. “How about it? He’s put on a good show for us tonight, that’s for sure. But is he too dangerous to keep? Are we asking for trouble here? My Champion is unquestionably loyal, but this guy? Not so much. Should we just kill him off?” 

The varied and colorful spectators in the room gave varied and colorful responses—a few thumbs up, a few more thumbs down, a shrug, a side-to-side wobble of a helmeted head. At least one attendee responded with a show of blinky red lights, and another made a slashing motion that clearly meant: cut his neck. Loki swallowed. 

“And how about you?” The Grandmaster asked Loki directly. “What do you say?”

“I think…we should let him live,” Loki mused, voice low and careful. “He could be… profitable.” He paused to check the effect on the Grandmaster, who seemed intrigued. 

“Profitable? I suppose he is a crowd-pleaser. He would have to be tamed, of course.”

Loki nodded deferentially, suppressing a smile. “Of course.” 

Meanwhile, down in the arena, the Hulk had arrived at an important realization: he was glad that Thor was alive. He didn’t want Thor to die. 

The Grandmaster’s looming image reappeared, filling the stadium with staticky light. “Here we go folks, time to find out the Lord of Thunder’s ultimate fate—Thumbs up for life, Thumbs down for the other thing, here it is—” 

“NO!” Roared Hulk at the projection. 

“Uh oh, what was that? My Champion says no?” asked the Grandmaster’s enormous display. 

“No thumbs-up thumbs-down,” Hulk growled. “Hulk win fight.” He curled his massive fingers around Thor’s torso, and lifted the broken body into the air above his head. “Hulk keep prize!” 

The crowd burst into an unprecedented mania of pro-Hulk fervor. 

“You’re going to keep him as a prize?” The Grandmaster asked, his image still towering hundreds of feet over the arena. “Well. I can read the crowd here, and if that’s what you want…”

The Hulk let out one final, argument-ending roar. 

“-Then that’s what you get! How do you like that, folks, our Champion gets what he wants. I love it. You love it. And that is the end of tonight’s show-- I guess the Lord of Thunder will be back for more, if he survives the conditioning we’re going to put him through—and if he doesn’t, we will still make sure that each and every one of you can purchase a commemorative mug in the shape of his skull. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, once again it has been an honor being your host, I am: the Grandmaster!” 

The projection zapped out of existence, and the arena lights went dark. Hulk grinned.  
He was starting to feel good about his victory after all. 


	2. Nurse Loki vs. the Hulk

With the limp body of Thor slung over his shoulder, Hulk made his way out of the arena, to the special elevator made just for him. The elevator hummed and made soothing, chirring noises as it scanned the Hulk and his prize for any unauthorized materials or potentially dangerous brainwaves. Finding nothing amiss, the elevator dinged pleasantly and shot up to the penthouse floor of the Grandmaster’s tower, transporting the victorious champion—and his unwitting prize—to the wildest post-fight party Sakaar had ever seen. 

Hulk was instantly mobbed by fans. Everyone wanted to see him, touch him, capture his image on their technological devices. The Sakaarian paparazzi, notorious for their ruthless pursuit of scandal, bombarded the Hulk with questions about his personal life. The Hulk, for his part, had been well-schooled in these trivial interactions and entertained them all with tart, saucy answers— “Your mom’s bigger!” was always a crowd pleaser, as was, “Your mom’s better!” and really anything mentioning the inquirer’s mother was sure to get a positive response. 

Across the room, Loki saw the Hulk exit the elevator, and nearly dropped his drink. Although Loki had convinced himself (and everyone else) that he’d enjoyed watching the Champion fight, seeing Thor squashed nearly to death moments earlier had made Loki doubly certain that he was never going to be up for another thrashing at the hands of the Hulk. 

Therefore, when the Hulk appeared at the party, with one unconscious Asgardian demigod already in tow, Loki decided to make an expedient getaway.

Unfortunately, that’s exactly when the Grandmaster called for him. 

“Loki! Loki, my mischievous little mastermind. Get. Over. Here.” Loki hid a grimace and turned to greet the Grandmaster, all smiles. The eccentric Sakaarian overlord was swaying, likely due to intoxication, and a sort of keyboard was hovering in front of him as he wound his way through the reveling guests. 

“Yes Grandmaster?” Loki said, hoping he didn’t sound tense. 

“Wow, so tense,” the Grandmaster remarked immediately, to Loki’s utter chagrin. “This is a party! And a big day for you, am I right? Lot of firsts. You should relax.” The Grandmaster took a huge swallow of some glowing blue beverage, and played a few notes on his keyboard, which had an intensifying effect on the pumping dance music in the room, instantly hyping the crowd. 

“Firsts?” Loki felt obliged to ask, almost having to shout over the music. 

“Yeah—first time you saw my Champion fight, first time attending one of these legendary after-parties—”

“I don’t mean to brag, but, I’ve been to lots of parties,” Loki said, using some of the swagger in his tone that had originally won him the Grandmaster’s favor, while also hoping to extract himself from the conversation.

“Oh, brag away,” The Grandmaster invited, taking another drink. “You know I love it when you get all, hm, cheeky. Mm. But anyway it’s also the first time you’ll be helping me with, I don’t know, call it a scheme, maybe a plot, sort of a business venture—I’m talking about your brilliant little idea, of using that sad rag doll over there—” he pointed across the room at the incapacitated Thor, who was being held aloft by one foot as Hulk posed for a picture. 

Loki felt a twinge of something at the sight of his brother being so mishandled. Something like offense, maybe—certainly not sympathy. 

“—to our mutual benefit,” finished the Grandmaster. “Cheers.” Loki tapped glasses and drank automatically, but realized he hadn’t quite absorbed the Grandmaster’s message. Sensing his confusion, the Grandmaster rolled his eyes. 

“What I’m saying is, Loki, you’re going to help me figure out how to use our lovely Lord of Thunder for maximum moolah. Which is money. Do you call it that? Moolah? I don’t know. Someone does. In any case, congratulations. Now that we’re business partners, you are in,” he motioned for Loki to lean in closer. “My. Innermost. Circle.” 

Loki hid a shiver of revulsion—hid it very, very well. “Right where I have always wanted to be,” he schmoozed, raising his drink in yet another toast. 

The Grandmaster enthusiastically drained his glass, which a golden lady deftly removed from his hand the instant it was empty. “Thank you dear,” The Grandmaster said, and flourished both hands on the keyboard. “Now, someone needs to pick up this beat, and that someone is me. Yeah.” 

As soon as he was sure the Grandmaster’s attention was elsewhere, Loki looked back over at his brother.

He didn’t like what he saw. Thor was looking deader by the minute, and Loki very much needed him to stay alive. 

Loki’s promotion to the Grandmaster’s “innermost circle” was something Loki had been setting up for a while now—but he hadn’t intended that promotion to hinge on the life of his brother. 

Hulk was still dragging Thor’s body around by one leg, laughing and drinking and eating huge globs of food. Loki made up his mind, and took a risk. He stepped out of sight for a moment and changed his appearance, picking the form of a female nurse he’d seen tending some of the other gladiators who’d been fortunate enough to survive their bouts in the arena. Disguise in place, he slid his way through the party until he reached the biggest, greenest person in the room.

“Excuse me? Beloved Champion?” Loki asked urgently. 

Hulk cocked his head and considered the nurse who was addressing him. “What you want?”

“Your, em, prize, seems to be in need of medical attention,” Loki pointed out. 

Hulk scowled, and hoisted Thor up until his face was mere inches from Loki’s. Loki flinched as a drop of Thor’s blood plopped onto his shoe. “Prize hurt bad,” Hulk said. 

“Yes, I think so,” Loki agreed. “Can we take him somewhere quiet? We need to get him healed.” 

Hulk scrunched up his lower lip, considering. “Hulk’s room quiet,” he said at last. “But Hulk stay at party. You take prize there. Hulk come later.”

Without further room for discussion, Hulk half-shoved, half-tossed Thor’s body at the anxious-seeming nurse. Loki managed to awkwardly catch one of his brother’s arms, but the rest of him knocked into Loki’s legs and then sprawled to the floor. “You could have helped me carry him, you wretched dolt,” Loki grumbled under his breath, figuring out how best to wrestle his brother up into a draggable position. 

The Hulk had decided to try some dance moves, effectively distracting most of the revelers, and Loki had almost managed to haul away his heavy, battered burden unnoticed when once again the Grandmaster called out to him.

“Yoo hoo! You there, nurse by the door, dragging away my Champion’s hard-earned prize. Where are you going?” 

Loki froze. Shit. The Grandmaster had more magical knowledge than he let on, Loki knew. But could he see through Loki’s disguise? 

“Hulk’s room,” Hulk spoke up, overhearing the Grandmaster’s question. “Nurse take Thor there.”

The Grandmaster wiggled his eyebrows. “Back to the private suite? Getting some alone time with the sparkly guy? Nice. While you’re at it, call down to my personal medical staff and get some healers up here. Hopefully he’s not too far gone. We can fix the bones—and we do need to fix a bunch of those, all the ribs, ew, it looks like. And we can fix the internal organs. But, can we fix the brain? That’s the issue here. I hope we can.” 

“I’ll do my best,” Loki promised, still not certain whether the Grandmaster knew who he was. 

***

Once summoned, the actual medical staff arrived with a floating stretcher, and a whole array of potions and tools for dealing with traumatic injuries.

With Thor safety transported to the Hulk’s private quarters, Loki and the three other nurses laid their patient out on the floor and got to work. Loki didn’t know anything about Sakaarian medicine, but he was a quick study. Fortunately, the planet had at some point acquired a bone-knitting tool that was very nearly a magic wand—a steady wave over the fractured areas and the healing progressed rapidly. 

Loki found himself annoyed for the millionth time at the inconsistencies of Asgardian physiology—so weak, nearly human in some ways, yet so supernaturally resilient in others. But even Thor, for all his strength, could be maimed or killed. “And you nearly were, this time,” Loki muttered aloud. 

Complicated healing magic had never been Loki’s forte. He was proficient, he supposed, as a student of his mother and he was lightyears ahead of Thor, who couldn’t heal a papercut (or just couldn’t be bothered to try), but of course that was the case in any genre of magic. 

But there was a shortcut, in healing, that was always discouraged and rarely practiced, and it happened to be something that Loki was especially good at: transforming one thing into another. In the same way that Loki could, for example, turn his brother into a frog, Loki could turn his brother’s crushed lung into an uncrushed lung. A slippery slope, in matters of life and death, since everyone knew how much trouble it was when a person who was supposed to be dead was magically kept alive—for his part, Loki had never tried anything like that. 

In this case, Loki reasoned, Thor was definitely comatose but still a long way from death, and it seemed the more traditional healing methods were going to take days if not weeks to resolve the rest of the internal damage. Between the Grandmaster’s whims and the Hulk’s animalistic violence, Loki sensed that he needed his brother back in fighting shape as soon as possible. 

So he risked it. He started with Thor’s heart, which was admittedly the heart Loki knew best out of all the hearts in the galaxy. It was beating steadily—a comfort—but had been bruised by the concussive shock of the Hulk’s final blow. Loki unbruised it. 

At last Loki was satisfied with his work. Any true Asgardian healer would have been appalled, but Loki was convinced it would hold together, and Thor would be on his feet in moments. That is, once he woke up. 

“The Grandmaster was right about the extent of his injuries,” one of the nurses remarked. “His body is recovering, but his mind is far away.” 

“I might be able to do something about that,” Loki offered, and pressed his palm squarely to Thor’s forehead. 

But before he could go looking too far into Thor’s head, Loki was startled by the thudding return of the room’s truly massive occupant. 

“Party over,” Hulk announced dully. “Hulk tired. Girls leave.”

Loki bit the inside of his cheek and wondered if it was too late to try the disguise of a male nurse instead. “We aren’t done healing your prize yet,” Loki informed the Hulk. 

“Prize fine. Get out,” Hulk grumped. 

“He’s got a brain injury,” Loki protested. “Caused by you. Can’t you at least let us wake him up?”

Hulk mulled this over, slowly. “Hulk smash brain, good. Brain stupid. Thor not use brain, anyway.” 

Dumbfounded, Loki watched the Hulk’s wide face split into a toothy grin. The other nurses tittled.

“Did you… did you just make a joke?” Loki asked the Hulk, as all evidence indicated that indeed, that had just happened. 

“Hulk very funny,” Hulk asserted. “And tired. Girls get out. Hulk take bath.” 

The other nurses promptly began packing up their potions. “Wait,” Loki insisted. “We really should stay until he wakes up.”

“Grrr.” Hulk’s lip curled, dangerously. “Nurse making Hulk angry.” 

“And Hulk making Nurse nervous,” Loki admitted, willing to be bold as long as his disguise was solid. “But I need to bring this patient back to consciousness. Understand?”

The Hulk frowned, considering. His large green frown worsened to a larger, greener grimace. 

“Please?” Loki tried, voice soft. 

“Ok,” Hulk relented. “Girls stay til Thor wake up. Then go.” Without further ado, the reigning champion of Sakaar began to strip, heavy pieces of armor clunking to the floor.

Realizing he was about to see a naked Hulk, Loki averted his gaze, then remembered his brother and awkwardly placed his hand over Thor’s eyes, the way one might try to block the view of a child. Just in case Thor chose that moment to awaken, Loki figured there were some things he would probably prefer not to see. 

Hulk sank into the tub, and out of Loki’s imminent concern. While the great green one soaked, Loki reached into the realm of the unconscious, determined to bring his brother back. 


	3. Banner's friend, in Hulk's house

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTES! Three things important for this chapter: 
> 
> First: remember in Ragnarok, when Thor and Loki travel to New York, Mjolnir is disguised as an umbrella. 
> 
> Second: please please please tell me you have seen the "Thor's Roommate" or "Team Thor" videos. Google them immediately if you haven't. Basically it makes it quasi-canon that Thor has been to Australia (and has worn board shorts).
> 
> Third: a huge part of this chapter is a re-telling, like, word-for-word from the script, of the scene in Ragnarok when Thor wakes up in Hulk's room. I know it's sometimes super-annoying to find play-by-play scenes from the movies transcribed into fanfic, but for this chapter I just had to do it. 
> 
> Ok that's it for notes on Chapter 3. Enjoy!!

Void. More void. Vast expanse. “All right brother.” Loki spoke into the insensate emptiness. “Where have you gone?”

There—a draw, like a current. A great familiar enveloping presence. “Got you,” Loki said, grabbing hold. 

The next thing he knew, Loki was opening his eyes and blinking into scorching sunlight. He was dressed, to his rising discomfort in the rapidly increasing heat of the sun, in the all-black suit he’d worn when he’d taken Thor to New York to look for their father. 

As the rest of the world came into focus, Loki realized he was somewhere he most definitely didn’t belong: a beach. 

Loki, dressed for a particularly fashionable sort of funeral, was standing in the middle of a sandy shoreline--edged by a frothy sapphire ocean alive with waves and sizzling under the most intense sunlight he’d ever felt. 

“Need an umbrella?” Thor’s voice, of course. Loki looked down to find his mostly-naked brother lying on his back in the sand at Loki’s feet, totally relaxed, the whole long length of his torso and legs stretched out and tanned bare feet pointed towards the sea. Loki felt an age-old quiver of envy at the sight of him--no part of Loki would ever match up to the sheer beauty of… _that_. Thor’s skin, Loki couldn’t help but notice, was nearly the same toasted-gold color as the sand. 

With a warm smile bristling his whiskers, Thor held up a familiar-looking closed umbrella. 

“As if I’d fall for that one,” Loki scoffed. “You’d hand it to me only to see the weight pull me flat onto my face.”

“Mjolnir’s gone,” Thor said simply. “This is just an umbrella now.”

Loki hesitated for half a second, and then accepted the offered umbrella, opened it, and sighed in relief as it shaded his pale face and black-clad shoulders from the brutal light. 

“Is this earth?” Loki asked, not recognizing anything about the visible coast. 

“Australia,” Thor explained cheerfully. 

“And what are you wearing?” 

“Oh—boardies. Board shorts.” 

Loki wasn’t sure what those were, but quickly decided it didn’t matter. “And… you remember what happened to Mjolnir? And what happened after that?”

“I think so,” Thor said amiably, stretching his arms out and folding his hands behind his head. “Got this haircut, against my will, fought the Hulk I think, also not by choice, and…” his voice trailed off. “…Got killed off?”

“No, you’re not dead,” Loki said, squatting down beside him in the sand.

“You sure? I was just talking to Father a few moments ago.”

Loki looked around. “Odin was here?”

“Well, he was in Norway.”

“Norway’s the opposite of here,” Loki pointed out, slightly annoyed. “This place is a furnace.” 

Thor smiled, and rolled his shoulders a little against the sand. “I like it. Did you know I lived here, briefly? After Ultron, and before I went adventuring around the realms in search of infinity stones, I spent some time here.” 

“How nice,” said Loki flatly. “Anyway you said you saw our father? What did he say?”

“He said you’d come to find me.” Thor looked up, those cobalt eyes of his seeming to swallow the whole blue ocean and the whole blue Midgardian planet and the whole wide blue of the cosmos beyond. Loki felt his own mind slipping, dragged towards Thor’s unconscious, and knew the time was right. 

“And so I have. Come with me.” Loki closed his eyes, focused, and opened them again in the Hulk’s private suite on Sakaar. 

The three other nurses were busy wiping some of the dirt and grime away from Thor’s still-healing body. 

Loki was certain he’d brought Thor’s consciousness back to the surface, just a second or two behind his own, but as a tick passed, and then another, he began to doubt. But then—

“AAUGH!” Thor jolted awake, panicked. He began brushing the bandages and damp towels away from his skin as if they were burning him. The other nurses didn’t need any other hints—they scrambled to gather their supplies in order to make a hasty escape. 

Loki, for his part, was genuinely relieved to see Thor awake, alert, already chafing at his new surroundings, and wished he could drop his disguise for a moment, just to be able to welcome his brother back from the brink. But then Loki locked eyes with the Hulk, still soaking in his bath, and reconsidered. 

‘Stay til Thor wake up, then go,’ had been the deal, not ‘stay til Thor wake up, then turn into Loki and get beaten to a pulp.’ 

Loki followed the other nurses as they hurried down the hall. He’d be back to check on Thor as soon as possible, and preferably once the Hulk was out of the way. 

Thor, meanwhile, had no memory whatsoever of where his mind had been during all the long hours since his battle with the Hulk. He’d been checked out, gone, totally off-line. Now he was back, back on Sakaar. And still without his hammer. For some reason he thought of Loki, and then angrily pushed the thought of his brother out of his mind. 

The first thing he noticed about the room was its horrible color scheme, red and white, jagged stripes, non-symmetrical geometric shapes everywhere. Next he noticed the gigantic bed, contained within the skeletal jaws of some sharp-toothed beast. Then there was the bar, stocked with large bottles and decanters of alien liquor. 

Thor found the metal-and-leather breastplate he’d worn in the arena, and tugged it on over his head. His ribs still felt a little tender; they'd probably taken the brunt of the Hulk's final blow.

These were living quarters, Thor realized. A sound behind him brought his attention to the most outlandish feature of the room: a cavernous pool, steaming—and barely visible within it, the Hulk himself. 

Hulk was feeling very relaxed. Thor seemed to understand this, because his reaction to the sight of the Hulk was not one of terror, just caution. Hulk didn’t mind.

“Are we cool?” Thor asked. 

Hulk thought they probably were. He gave a little grunt, which Thor seemed to accept as an adequate response. A little smile quirked the demigod’s face.

“It’s Hulk in a hot tub,” Thor remarked to himself, plainly amused by the idea. Then he fixed his attention back on Hulk. “How long have you been like that?”

Was Thor asking how long Hulk had been in the tub? Hulk was confused. “Like what?” he asked. 

“Like this,” Thor said, indicating the Hulk’s whole body. “Big, green… stupid.” 

Oh. Now Hulk understood. “Hulk always Hulk,” he replied.

That hadn’t been the answer Thor wanted to hear. He looked out the window instead, taking in the view of the city and the trash-heaps beyond. Even from this height and distance he could see the rain of detritus from the wormholes blotching the sky. 

And the wormholes themselves, of course, were searingly obvious. 

“How’d you get here?” Thor asked, changing tack. 

Get. Here? “Winning,” Hulk replied, pleased with himself for knowing this answer so readily. Because that was the answer he’d been taught; Hulk ‘got’ here, to his special status as the beloved Champion, to his special suite designed just for him, with the very best Hulk-sized furnishings, and of course the very best hot-tub, by winning. Winning was what earned him these things, this place, his status. Winning was how he got everything he wanted.

But for some reason, Hulk’s correct answer made Thor upset. “You mean cheating?” he pulled aside the collar of his breastplate and tilted his jaw so the disk in his neck was plainly visible. “Were they wearing one of these when you won?”

Hulk balked, not understanding the relevance. Yes, all the others had the disks implanted—but that wasn’t Hulk’s fault! He sulked in the tub, feeling unable to defend himself from Thor’s accusation, turning over in his big green mind how best to explain that his victories had nothing to do with the disks, most of the time. 

Before Hulk could come up with a response, Thor had moved on. “How’d you…arrive here?” he asked, taking care this time to choose a better verb than the ubiquitous ‘get’. 

Another easy question—Hulk was relieved. “Quinjet.” Thor had a quizzical look on his face that angered Hulk—had his answer not been clear? With rising frustration at Thor’s apparent lack of comprehension, Hulk splashed one huge hand into the water of the tub, showing the way the Quinjet had crash-landed on Sakaar. Mercifully, Thor understood. 

“Quinjet!” Thor exclaimed. “Yes, good—where is the Quinjet now?”

Hulk would never resort to using words when pointing or gesturing would suffice. Hulk knew the answer to this question, too, but how to tell it to Thor? It would take ten words or more, probably, and Thor would likely get frustrated with Hulk along the way and call him stupid once again. Rather than go through all of that, Hulk decided he would show Thor the answer to his question the easy way. 

Which unfortunately required Hulk to get out of the tub. 

“oh, that’s--Naked,” Thor was saying, ridiculously. Of course Hulk was naked, it was his own bath tub—Hulk knew nobody took baths wearing clothing. As Hulk thudded past him, Thor looked awkwardly up at the ceiling, suddenly unsure of what to do with his arms. “That’s very naked,” Thor was still saying. Hulk growled a little, confused by Thor’s reactions. Hulk knew it wasn’t all right to go around totally naked all the time, but, did Thor want Hulk to answer his questions or not?? If Thor actually wanted to know about the Quinjet, he shouldn’t be making such a fuss over Hulk being naked. 

“It’s in my brain, now,” Thor whined, face scrunched up uncomfortably. 

Hulk got madder. What did Thor mean? What was in his brain? Thor looked like he was in pain. Was it the brain injury, that the sassy nurse had mentioned? Was that in his brain? Or was it something about the Quinjet, was that in his brain, somehow? Hulk knew he’d never manage asking for clarification, so he forced himself to ignore whatever was wrong with Thor’s brain and proceeded with what he’d intended to show him. 

Hulk pointed bluntly out the window. “Quinjet,” he announced, accomplishing yet another objective in this ongoing communication session. 

Thor moved towards the window and looked down to see the familiar shape of the Quinjet, seemingly intact, resting atop a huge pile of alien junk. The sight of it gave Thor his first real hope for escape. 

“Yes! I’m getting us out of here,” Thor promised excitedly. “This is a terrible, awful place. You’re gonna love Asgard. It’s big. It’s golden. Shiny.” 

Hulk wrapped a towel around his waist and sat down on his bed, taking a huge bite out of a pumpkin. 

“Hulk stay,” Hulk decided. 

“No no no, my people need me to get back to Asgard,” insisted Thor. “We must prevent Ragnarok.”

That was a word Hulk didn’t know, and in these situations it was best to ask about it right away. “Rag-na-ruh?” he asked, mouth full of pumpkin. 

“The prophesied death of my home world, the end of days, it’s the end of—” Thor gave up explaining as he realized Hulk wasn’t processing any of this. “If you help me get back to Asgard,” Thor offered, changing tack once again, “I can help you get back to Earth.” 

Hulk wasn’t interested. “Earth hate Hulk."

Thor became even more animated. “No they don’t--Earth loves Hulk! They love you. You’re one of the Avengers. One of the team, one of our friends. This is what friends do--they support each other!” 

That word ‘friend’ had come up again, but now Hulk remembered why it bothered him. “You’re Banner’s friend,” he accused. 

Thor looked desperate now. “I’m not Banner’s friend,” he argued, pained. “I prefer you!”

Somehow Hulk sensed that was a lie. “Banner’s friend,” Hulk said again. 

“I don’t even like Banner,” Thor protested, and put on the world’s worst impersonation, tapping imaginary keys in the air: “I’m into numbers and science and stuff...”

Hulk still wasn’t convinced. “Thor go,” he grunted. “Hulk stay.”

This whole conversation was apparently wearing on Thor’s patience. “Fine,” he said, giving up his attempt to win the Hulk’s help. “Stay here. Stupid place. It’s hideous, by the way. The red, the white.” He gestured testily at the room’s décor. “Just pick a color.” It sounded like an insult. 

Thor headed for the exit, which appeared to be a wide open door with a corridor beyond. 

Hulk was suddenly reluctant to let Thor have the last word, especially after he’d been rude about Hulk’s tastefully decorated room. 

“Smashed you,” Hulk muttered under his breath. 

Clearly that pricked a nerve. “You didn’t smash anything,” Thor said, annoyed. “I won that fight.”

Hulk’s lip curled. “I smashed you.”

Thor was trying his best to pretend that he was above this subject. “Yeah, sure, sure.”

“Baby arms,” Hulk heckled. 

“What?” Thor was riled, Hulk could tell—and Hulk liked that very much. 

“Baby,” Hulk called him again, employing one of the universe’s most universal insults. 

“Moron! You—big child,” Thor shouted back, unable in his flustered state to come up with any cleverer jabs. Loki would have a zinger for this situation, Thor had no doubt, but he was on his own, and infuriatingly drawn down to the Hulk’s level of name-calling.

Thor continued towards the open doorway, and didn’t see the grin spreading across the Hulk’s face. 

“Thor go!” Hulk called eagerly. 

“I am going,” Thor grumbled, but he wasn’t going far—as his foot crossed the boundary, a force field across the doorway lit up with crackling red energy, interacting with the disk in Thor’s neck to leave him totally incapacitated. 

The Hulk chuckled heartily as the God of Thunder collapsed on the floor. 

“Thor go again!” Hulk cheered. Then, as it became clear that Thor was in no shape to do any such thing, Hulk’s expression shifted into a satisfied smirk. “Thor home,” he concluded. 

As the crippling pain subsided, Thor managed to half-crawl away from the door. It might have been his imagination, but he was pretty sure the agonizing paralysis radiating from the disk got worse each time he experienced it. It was as if the device figured he hadn’t learned his lesson, and so applied a higher level of punishment or something—which also ensured that the victim had no chance of acclimating or getting accustomed to the sensation. 

In any case, the force field across the door meant that escape would be just a little more complicated than Thor had hoped. What he didn’t realize was that the force field across the door was also monitored by the Grandmaster himself—although he was about to find that out. 

***

The instant Thor’s foot had crossed the threshold, the Grandmaster had received an alert. 

“Wow, would you look at that?” the Grandmaster mused to his trusty guard, Topaz. “That frightfully tenacious Lord of Thunder is already up-and-at-em, which I love about him. And, lookat that, he’s already trying to escape. Incredible. Let’s go pay him a visit, shall we? I think I’d like to have a little chat, yep. Would you like that? He probably won't, but, Ok. We're doing this. Oh, and Topaz? Bring the melt-stick.”


	4. Thor in trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get a little dark in this chapter; it ain't rated M for muffin.

Thor had scarcely recovered from the zap of the door when he saw the Grandmaster heading towards him, seated in one of those bulky restraining chairs and gliding (rolling? Floating?) down the corridor towards the Hulk’s quarters, flanked by his stocky female guard. 

The motion caught the Hulk’s eye. “Uh oh,” he grumbled, realizing what was coming. “Thor in trouble.”

“Quick!” Thor whispered urgently. “When he gets here, you smash him!” 

“Nuh-uh,” Hulk shook his head, dismissively, as if Thor was speaking nonsense. 

“Please Hulk, he’s that guy who makes you do all the fights, he’s a very bad person,” Thor pleaded. 

“Hulk like fights,” Hulk protested. “Grandmaster good master.” 

“Good master?” Thor repeated, incredulous. “What are you, his dog? Help me take him down!” 

During the course of his frantic whispering, Thor had failed to notice that the Grandmaster had disembarked from the gliding chair and snuck up right behind him.

“Hellloo-ooh,” the Grandmaster purred, much too close to Thor’s ear. Thor spun away, instantly on edge, hands flexing into nervous fists. “Hey, Sparkles. My, you’re looking fit. That brother of yours sure knows his stuff, doesn’t he.” 

Thor was taken aback “My brother?” he asked. “What did he—” 

Ignoring him, the Grandmaster turned to Topaz and gestured vaguely at Thor, head-to-toe. “Didn’t that Loki fellow do just a great job with this? I mean considering what he had to start with, wow, look at this guy back on his feet already. I thought he’d be in the hospital for weeks.” 

“I fought your Champion,” Thor declared, as the Grandmaster’s sloping speech patterns began to grate on his nerves. “What more do you want with me?” 

“Wouldn’t you know it, that is exactly what I came up here to discuss.” Eyebrows raised, the Grandmaster waved an arm, indicating the restraining chair. “Take a seat.” 

“I don’t think so,” Thor growled. 

The Grandmaster rolled his eyes. “Hulk my darling. Can you lend me a hand? It seems your little prize doesn’t want to play along.” 

“Sure,” Hulk grunted, and before Thor knew what happened the Hulk had snatched him up and plunked him down in the chair, where the manacles and ankle-cuffs hissed promptly into place. 

“Here’s how this works,” the Grandmaster explained coolly. “You can be a good little Thunder-muffin and cooperate, or, you can be excruciatingly paralyzed byyy, you guessed it, that handy-dandy obedience disk in your neck! Do you understand?” 

Thor grit his teeth, already furious. 

“I’m gonna need a yes or no answer on this,” the Grandmaster prompted. 

“I understand,” Thor said in his lowest voice. 

“Good. So. Here’s the deal. While we were watching your little fight scene with my beloved Champion over there, your brother came up with an interesting proposition. And I haven’t had a chance to go over the details with him yet, but here’s what I’m thinking: wouldn’t it be just neato if we used his beefy brother to further promote the already wildly popular Contest of Champions? You and Hulk, already with the history and the knowing each other and everything, you could be like a duo, a team. Take on whole armies of contenders. And when you aren’t in the arena, you live in luxury. Have anything your heart desires, just like my beautiful Hulk does now. Isn’t that right, Hulk? You happy here?”

“Hulk very happy,” Hulk confirmed. 

Thor looked appalled. 

“Now, does that sound exciting or what? Pretty great deal, am I right?” 

“Absolutely not,” Thor seethed. “If you think I would go along—” he bit back his words as the Grandmaster held up the fob device for the obedience disk. 

“Ah—” the Grandmaster smiled. “See that? You’re learning. I didn’t even have to push the button this time. I think you’re getting the hang of this. So, I probably don’t need to explain this next thing, but obviously, no more escape attempts. They’re just a little bit pathetic and, as you’ve already noticed, totally hopeless. You’re never getting out of here, so you might as well settle down. Speaking of which—” the Grandmaster looked around the Hulk’s room, as if seeing it for the first time. “Are you both comfortable in here? I mean there’s just the one bed, over there in that animal skull area…I guess we could bring up a cot, maybe some bunkbeds or, you know I could grant you your own private suite.”

Hulk perked up at this new topic. A private suite for Thor? In Hulk’s mind, this was akin to the Grandmaster saying that Thor was now of equal rank and importance to Hulk himself. Private rooms were something that only the Beloved Champion deserved. 

“No!” Hulk interjected, before Thor could say anything. “Thor stay with Hulk.” 

“Oh, that’s cute—you gonna have little sleepovers together in here? Sounds like fun. And it’s fine by me, especially since this room in particular is already, um, secure.” 

“Grandmaster,” Thor attempted to sound respectful, suppressing a dangerous tremor in his voice. 

“I love it when you call me that,” the Grandmaster cooed. “Go on.” 

“You already have a magnificent Champion. You don’t need me.”

“I agree,” the Grandmaster said, fluttering his eyelashes. 

Thor hesitated before continuing. “So… why…” 

“Why am I keeping you? Is that seriously your question? Topaz, isn’t this guy just a riot? I’m keeping you A), because you’re my property, and B), because you’re going to be, shall we say, good for business.” 

“Business,” Thor scrunched up his face. “You know, if this is about money, I could probably…” 

“…Yes?” The Grandmaster encouraged, genuinely curious. 

“Pay you?” Thor finished tentatively. 

There was a pause as that offer sunk in. “Are you trying to--to ransom yourself?” The Grandmaster’s face twitched. “Ah heh, ah heh heh, ha heh, ha! HA!” He convulsed a few times, and Thor and Hulk shared a look of mutual cluelessness. “Oh, that is a hoot,” the Grandmaster declared, straightening up as he recovered from his awkward fit of laughter. “Come on, out of the chair. You can get up.” 

The manacles snapped free, and Thor cautiously stood up from the seat. 

“Now,” said the Grandmaster casually. “I want to see you bow.” 

Thor blinked a few times. Bow? Had he heard that correctly? Frowning, Thor bent politely at the waist, as if making a formal introduction. 

“Wow, ok,” the Grandmaster said, and swished his robe in a bad attempt at a curtsey. “So quaint! I feel like we’re going to a royal ball or something. But no—” without warning he activated the obedience disk, and Thor barely had time to make a sound before the device hijacked his body, forcing him to his knees. 

“Actually, when I said I wanted you to bow, I was thinking more like this.” The Grandmaster waved his control, causing Thor’s forehead to hit the ground.

“Isn’t that lovely?” the Grandmaster remarked, leaving Thor completely immobilized in the grip of boiling pain. “Look. You are gonna do, whatever I want you to do. You told me before you weren’t for sale, but sweetie, you will be for _rent_ if I feel like renting you out. And have you ever heard the phrase, ‘drive it like you rented it?’ Probably not, not really a great phrase, but I’m sure you get the gist. And if your fascinating brother can’t come up with any better ways to use you, never fear. I have got ideas for miles. It is up to you, to figure out quickly, how things are going to be. Because if you reject my…generosity…” he waved for Topaz to bring him the melt-stick, and used the toe of his shoe to turn Thor’s head over to one side. 

Almost delicately, he rested the end of the melt-stick on Thor’s temple. “I will melt you, bit by bit, in a really fun way,” the Grandmaster said, utterly nonchalant. 

Through the haze of unspeakable pain, Thor was able to look across the room and lock eyes with the Hulk—and the look on Hulk’s face in that moment, it seemed to Thor, was one of pity. 

Thor hadn’t suspected that the Hulk was capable of that sentiment. He would have probably felt more surprised about it, except for the fact that he was preoccupied by feeling every cell in his body being consumed by a never-ending tornado of agony. 

“Now that all the obligatory threatening is out of the way, let me get real with you,” The Grandmaster continued. “Why am I keeping you? For this, just this. You know people love it, the violence in the arena, the strong ones picking off the weak. But what they love even more is seeing a great big strong thing like you, totally helpless. I’m serious, people love it. It’s a thing, it’s a, a, a fetish. Can’t get enough of it. It’s like, what do you want to see today people?? Huh? Big strong guy tied up and tortured? Obviously: that is what they want. There’s just nothing quite so mesmerizing. It’s like…addicting. And it’s one of our specialties here on Sakaar. See, the way you are, right now…” The Grandmaster stared down at him, and sighed. “I just want to fold you up into a box and tote you around. I could watch you like this for days. Never change the channel.” 

Something about what the Grandmaster was saying was starting to bother the Hulk. It was all very different from the things the Grandmaster had said to Hulk, back when Hulk was brand new as the Beloved Champion. Hulk wasn’t sure what was happening, but he was starting to worry that Thor might be taken away. Would Grandmaster really put Thor into a box? Hulk didn’t want that to happen. 

“Ok!” The Grandmaster lifted the melt-stick and turned away. “Topaz. We’re done here.” He climbed back into the big chair, and began floating slowly away. “Ta-ta, my Champion,” he called back cheerfully to the Hulk. “Make sure you take good care of your prize, all right?” 

“Bye, master,” Hulk replied, raising a hand in a half-hearted farewell. He watched respectfully as the Grandmaster’s chair moved gradually down the hall, Topaz strutting beside it with the melt-stick in her grasp. 

Thor was still being held down by the obedience disk, his face on the floor, making tiny, muffled “m!” noises as if gasping for air through a heavy pillow. 

Only once the Grandmaster vanished from view at the end of the very long corridor did the implant finally power down. 

Thor curled limply onto his side, one hand coming up to cover the disk in his neck. He’d tried a dozen times already to pry it off. Now, he had no will to try again.

Hulk noticed Thor’s back, under its thin cover of armor, was shuddering a little bit as he breathed. And when he finally sat up, Hulk saw there was a little bit of water leaking from his eyes. 

“Hey,” Hulk realized. “Thor crying.”

“No I’m not,” Thor said, rubbing his eyes. “Just leave me alone.” 

“Sorry,” Hulk muttered, feeling strangely bad. Part of him thought that Thor crying was supposed to be funny, something to mock. Very funny and dumb for Thor to cry like a little baby. But another part of Hulk thought that maybe it was sad, and not funny at all. A distant memory of Bruce Banner crying ghosted through Hulk’s mind, chased quickly away by a flurry of rage. 

“…Thor want food?” Hulk suggested. Rather than decipher how he was feeling about it, Hulk decided he would just try to make the situation go away. 

“No.” Thor had turned his back to Hulk and was still sitting there on the floor. 

Hulk glanced searchingly around his room for other things to offer the dejected demigod. Aha--there was something. 

“Thor want bath?”

“No, I do not,” Thor said firmly.

“Want Drink?”

There was a long, long pause. “Yeah, all right,” Thor said at last. “I could use a drink.” 


	5. Hulk kills every time (but Loki saves the day)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sing it with me, folks: Thor and Hulk, sitting in a suite, D-R-I-N-K-I-N-G....  
> (actually this Hulk/Thor thing is about to be sidetracked, just a tad, by some incoming Thorki feels, so, prepare yourselves!)

An hour passed, and then another, while Hulk and Thor sat side-by-side in companionable silence, slowly depleting Hulk’s supply of Sakaarian liquor. 

The sweet burn of the honey-brown spirits evoked for Thor wistful memories of what he supposed were the good old days of Asgard—feasting with his friends, the Warriors Three, Lady Sif… Loki was there too, in all Thor’s happiest recollections, playing some prank—laughing with them all. 

For Hulk, drinking had the opposite effect on his memories: blotting them out, sanding them down to indistinguishable nubs until Hulk couldn’t feel them at all. 

Finally, the alcohol and the reality of the past 48 hours overwhelmed Thor’s rose-gold nostalgia, and he began to think about the things the Grandmaster had said. 

“Is it true?” Thor blurted out, ending the peaceful silence. “They don’t really do that here, do they?”

“Do what?” Hulk asked, confused. Hulk was beginning to get sleepy. 

Thor looked extremely uncomfortable. “You know… rent people out, to torture them. Whatever he was talking about.” 

Hulk thought it over, sticking out his lower lip. “Not Hulk,” he said at last. 

Thor seemed mildly annoyed. “Do you mean you’ve not done it, or it’s not been done to you?”

“Both,” Hulk stated. “But…” it was impossible for Hulk to express why he thought this other piece of information was important, yet for some reason he felt it had to be said. “Hulk…kills, every time.” His voice was hushed, tired. 

“You mean in the fights, the arena? Killing your opponents?” Thor asked, and Hulk nodded. 

“Well,” Thor sighed. “Some would say dying honorably in combat is better than being tortured to death, at least. I know I’d prefer it to be that way, for myself.” 

Hulk twitched a little in sudden distress. “Thor want…death?”

“No, I don’t want it, but I suppose I’ll have to die eventually. Everyone dies, I think. Even my father—died. Recently.”

“Oh.” Hulk calmed down. His big green eyelids were beginning to droop. “…Hulk not kill him,” Hulk said, and yawned.

“Yes I know you didn’t kill him.” With a wry smile, Thor leaned his head back against the wall. “But thanks for saying so.”

The Hulk made a face halfway between a scowl and a pout, as if in this sleepy-drunk state he were unable to figure out what he’d said that Thor was so grateful for, and didn’t know how he was expected to respond. “…You welcome,” he grumbled at last. 

Thor smiled again. “You know, I’ve been around…like a thousand years or something, explored the Nine Realms, even got banished and turned into a human once and, through all that, what surprises me most is how much I still have to learn. Take this place for example—” 

“ZZZZZGGH.” The Hulk was snoring, loudly, sitting against the wall with his head tipped back and mouth hanging open. 

“Ah,” Thor sighed, and finished off the contents of the bottle in his hands. “Good chat.” 

Done with his drink, Thor stood, wincing. Ever since the door had zapped him he hadn’t been feeling right, and the Grandmaster using the obedience disk on him for such an extended time had made things much worse. Standing up just now had somehow sent the alcohol straight to his head, and he felt another wash of thoughts of Asgard swirling up, tempting him to ignore his current plight and stay blissfully afloat for awhile in a sea of happy memories. 

But no—Thor had to figure out how to escape. That was his priority now. He pushed his past aside and tried to focus, stumbling across the room to examine the material of the window. If only he had Mjolnir now, Thor was certain he could break the window easily, or break through the wall, or the floor, or that other wall, or the ceiling, and go zooming away. 

Thinking of Mjolnir now, a rush of inebriation in his mind, Thor reached out his hand, wanting to remember what it felt like to have his hammer fly into it—

And was startled to feel an instant _whoosh_ , that unmistakable resonance of summoned power, and something a great deal larger (but far lighter) than Mjolnir flew across the room and into his palm! 

Thor’s fingers closed instinctively around whatever had presented itself for his grasp, a split second before he realized what it was.

“Ghk!” Loki choked, already failing his hands uselessly against Thor’s arm. 

“Loki?” Thor asked in a whisper, dumbfounded. 

“Let me go!” Loki hissed at him. “Are you trying to leave a permanent handprint around my neck??”

Beyond surprised at this most unexpected appearance of his brother, Thor lifted Loki just a half-inch off his feet, then let go his hold on Loki’s throat only to quickly catch him by the front of his shirt as he fell, pulling him in close. 

Loki put up his hands in the universal gesture of defense. 

“What—” Thor grunted at him, thoughts fuzzy. “How—” 

But now that he was clutching the fabric of Loki’s clothing, he became aware of something—a little piece of metal, it felt like—it was practically throbbing against Thor’s palm. Without a word, Thor ripped the metal bit away from Loki’s shirt—roughly shoving Loki to his knees in the process. 

“What is this??” Thor demanded, holding up the scrap of metal as if it were evidence of a crime. “Where’d you get it?”

“Shhh-shh,” Loki shushed him, eyeing the sleeping Hulk. “All right—so I stole a little piece of it.” 

“Stole a piece?!? Of Mjolnir?? Why??”

Loki looked guiltier than he’d ever looked before. “Why do I do anything? After it was broken there was a split second and it was just lying there, and, I don’t know! I thought it could be interesting, or useful maybe, or I thought I could cause trouble with it later—just, I took it.”

Thor staggered—partly from the shock of this revelation, partly from the after-effects of the obedience disk session combined with the alcohol. 

“Wait, but—when I first got to this planet I tried to call Mjolnir to me and got nothing—why didn’t you fly into my hand that time??”

“I’ve no idea, probably has to do with proximity or something—I was half a planet away when you first arrived but just now I was hiding down the hall waiting for the Hulk to fall asleep so I could talk to you,” Loki explained, speaking amazingly fast—even for him. “I swear I had no idea you’d be able to summon it like that. If I had, do you think I’d have been dumb enough to keep it on my person? What were you doing fantasizing about Mjolnir anyway? It is broken.” 

Thor was turning the bit of metal over and over in his hand. “I wasn’t fantasizing, I was--reminiscing.” 

He sniffed, blinked unevenly, swayed on his feet. 

“…Are you all right?” Loki asked. 

“We’ve got—this piece of Mjolnir!” Thor was beginning to sound delirious. He held the metal up, inches from Loki’s face. “Can’t you just—copy this piece, over and over, until you have all the pieces, and put them together again?” 

“Oh sure,” Loki said. “I suppose you want me to conjure up the heart of dying star as well, for a forge?"

There was a beat. “Can you do that?” Thor asked, groggily serious. 

Another beat. “I cannot,” Loki informed him, straight-faced. 

Thor swayed again, and for one horrifying moment, Loki thought his brother might actually vomit. “Wait a minute…” a troubling thought crossed Loki’s face. “Thor, what have you been drinking?”

“Over there…” Thor pointed weakly at the empty bottle. Loki scrambled to pick it up and sniffed it. 

“Oh no…” Loki looked stricken. “You idiot, this has got magic in it!”

“So what?” 

“So it’s having a reaction—it’s dissolving all the magic stitches that are holding you together!” Loki put his hands to the sides of his head, as if he might start tearing out his hair in exasperation. 

“Stitches?” Thor scrunched up his face into his best ‘yeah right!’ expression. “Pffft! There’s not a stitch on me.” 

Loki gave him one of those think-about-what-you-just-said looks. 

“I mean of course I’ve got clothes on,” Thor rambled, nearly cross-eyed now. 

Loki was starting to freak out. “They’re not like actual stitches they’re like… little spells, little codes of chemistry! Are you even aware that you _have_ a liver? No? Well, you do—or anyway you’re supposed to, but what you’ve got at the moment is more like a leaky bag of soup.” Loki gave up on explaining. “I have to fix this,” he said, mostly to himself. 

“Don’t even like leek soup,” Thor mumbled. 

“Thor, lie down right now and stay still,” Loki ordered. “This is serious.” 

“Fine…” with an overly-dramatic sigh, Thor stretched himself out on his back, and folded his hands behind his head. Then he closed his eyes, perfectly relaxed. 

Loki couldn’t help but recognize that this pose was exactly how he’d found Thor on that beach, in his brother’s subconscious. 

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Loki went on in a measured voice. “But, Thor, take off your shirt.”

“Pfft!” Thor said again, accompanied by that same incredulous, yeah-right expression. “ _You_ take off _your_ shirt,” he countered, but then moved to comply without further argument. With his breastplate cast aside, he lay back down. “Why is everyone always like, ‘Thor, take off your shirt?’” Thor was doing another of his terrible, high-pitched impressions. 

“Who says that?” Loki wondered distractedly, already taking stock of his brother’s failing organs. “Girls from earth? Like those girls who took a picture with you in New York?” Loki decided he could keep talking and work his magic at the same time. “You know, I’ve been meaning to point out to you, you were supposed to be disguised as a regular mortal. But those girls knew exactly who you were. Why is that?” 

“Doesn’t matter….” Thor muttered, voice trailing off. “Loki…?”

“Yes?” Loki asked tightly, hoping that Thor couldn’t feel the force he was having to use to keep the aforementioned bag of soup from spilling. 

“Can I…drift off? Or is it one of those, never-wake-up-again kind of things?”

“You’ll wake up,” Loki reassured him, and patted his shoulder. “I’ll make sure.”

Apparently that was good enough of a reassurance for Thor, because within seconds he was passed out and snoring as steadily as the Hulk, although not nearly half as loud. 

To Loki’s fairly comprehensive knowledge, Thor didn’t normally snore, so perhaps it was another side-effect of whatever he’d been drinking. In any case, Thor’s lungs appeared to be working well enough, so Loki knew he could focus his efforts on everything else. 

It was easier, this time, to wrangle Thor’s stubbornly self-destructing systems back under control. After an hour spent steadily separating the Sakaarian elixir from his own magic, Loki was satisfied that Thor would heal completely in two or three days—as long as he could avoid further injuries and further interactions with the peculiarly ‘freaky’ sorcery of Sakaar. 

Loki mused that that might be easier said than done, considering that Thor was currently staying in a room with the one creature in the universe most able to injure him, and that the room itself contained some strands of magic in its architecture. Whatever forces built this place, Loki could tell, they were really old, really powerful, and senility was setting in. It was a dangerously irresistible combination, volatile, unpredictable. Loki felt an undeniable affinity for the place. He didn’t care for gladiator fights, but he did like gambling--and rigging this-or-that outcome, setting up chess moves ten turns in advance and so forth. Loki already had several plans in the works. 

Of course, having to worry about Thor complicated things. Briefly, Loki considered the possibility that Thor wouldn’t help him at all. 

Then Loki remembered, for the millionth time, one of his favorite memories: Thor’s reaction to Loki’s supposed death. Smiling at that ultimate trick, at how completely Thor had fallen for it, Loki put his doubts away. 

Thor would help him—that was a safe bet. 


	6. The game has changed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last Loki-centric chapter for a while... get through this one, and I promise, the Hulk is up next.  
> Enjoy!!

A few hours later, Thor stirred, said “mnh,” and draped one arm over his eyes. 

“Oh, good, you woke up all by yourself,” said Loki’s voice, much sooner than Thor was prepared to listen to it. 

“For the next two days, you need to avoid getting injured and you cannot touch anything magic,” Loki instructed, doing his utmost to convey the gravity of the situation. 

“Can I touch _you_?” Thor grumbled, and it sounded vaguely like a threat. “You’re magic.” 

Loki could tell by his tone that Thor had not woken up in a good mood. He sighed. “And lucky for you that I am, because otherwise, you would be dead. Let me clarify: do not touch any inanimate magic things, please. Like potions, enchanted foods, magic doors, magic rings, magic swords, magic mirrors, magic slot machines in the casino downstairs…those are all off-limits for you. Don’t get zapped by your obedience disk, either. Those disks have magic in them, deeply nasty stuff.” 

Thor held up the fragment of Mjolnir with his other hand, the one that wasn’t over his eyes. “What about this?” he asked petulantly. 

Loki rolled his eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t fall out of his head. “Let me clarify further: do not touch any _non-Asgardian_ magic things, all right?” 

“Can’t you take this disk off me?” Thor complained, rubbing the itchy spot where it was implanted.

Loki shook his head. “If I attempted to tamper with it, it would activate, and you’d be dead before I could find someone with a fob device that was authorized to shut it off. They are extremely sensitive to third-party tampering, so as to discourage people from stealing the Grandmaster’s slaves.”

“…which I am one of,” Thor remembered after a beat, and his mood darkened further. “…Thanks to you.” 

Loki blinked. “You mean thanks to Scrapper 142,” he reminded his brother. “And did you somehow miss the fact that I just saved your life?”

“Oh, sorry,” Thor barked. “Would you have enjoyed your master’s wrath if I’d managed to die?” 

Loki stopped and took a mental step backwards. He knew Thor had plenty of reasons to be angry at him, but something was off—Thor seemed to be implying that perhaps Loki had healed him only to please the Grandmaster. He had to find out what Thor knew, or suspected, about Loki’s position on Sakaar. 

“Speaking of stealing the Grandmaster’s things,” Thor went on, sitting up. “I don’t believe for one second that you aren’t capable of stealing a fob device or whatever those things are.” He tossed the metal fragment into the air and caught it in his fist, using it to emphasize his point. “You’ve always been a good little thief.”

Loki’s face clouded. “Thor…that piece of Mjolnir, I may have said that I stole it but, it was just,” Loki looked down, brow furrowing. “Just lying on the ground.” 

“Whatever. It pisses me off that it was broken so badly that _you_ were able to lift even this tiny part of it.” Thor tossed it up again, caught it. 

“I wish you wouldn’t--” Loki blurted out, but then bit his lip. “Nevermind. The stakes are too high for this. You have to tell me what you know.” 

“I know you’re in bed with the Grandmaster, though I hope not literally,” Thor began. “Not that I think you’d be above that sort of—”

“Please,” Loki cut him off. “Is it really necessary to insult me in every sentence? Maybe go with every _other_ sentence, to save time?” He gave his best self-deprecating smile: a peace offering, made in earnest. 

Thor narrowed his eyes, but acquiesced. “When I woke up after the fight, I tried to escape and the door zapped me. The Grandmaster showed up right after that, and told me that you came up with a ‘proposition’ for using me for the glory of the Contest of Champions or whatever stupid thing. Then, he said he would love to torture me forever, and, basically, he’s going to do that as soon as you, yes _you_ , run out of other ideas for ways to, as he put it, ‘use’ me.” 

Loki gave a very slow nod, eyebrows high. “….I can see why you’re upset,” he offered at last. 

“Oh, for some reason he also gave you credit for doing a good job getting me back on my feet,” Thor remembered, his voice still laced with hostility. “Said you really know your stuff.”

Wait--The significance of that suddenly dawned on Loki. “So the Grandmaster knew I’d healed you, after the fight?” 

“That’s what I got out of that, yeah,” Thor confirmed. 

“Damn,” Loki said. “The game has changed.” 

“What do you mean?” Thor asked, still cross. 

“I was in disguise—so now we know the Grandmaster can see through me. At least, he can see through my disguises. I had wondered if he might be able to, but hadn’t tested it. It certainly makes things interesting…This is going to be harder than I thought.”

Thor was not impressed by whatever recalculations were now spinning in Loki’s brain. “Are you even going to bother to deny your part in the ‘proposition’ and the rest of it? Or are you that proud of making me your pawn?” 

Jolted, Loki locked eyes with his brother. “The Grandmaster was considering executing you at the end of the match,” Loki recounted, icily matter-of-fact. “I told him he should let you live, because you could be profitable for him. It was the only thing I could think of at the time to spare your life.”

This revelation rolled over Thor like a cold wave. 

“I didn’t know about the torture thing or any other designs he has on you,” Loki continued. “I’ll get you out of it if I can.” 

Across the room, still slumped against the wall where he’d passed out earlier, the Hulk grumbled something in his sleep. The sound made Loki flinch. 

“And that’s my cue to leave,” he said. “I have to reschedule a bookie for the VIP deck tonight—I’m in the Grandmaster’s inner circle now, so I need to act like it. Remember—for the next two days, avoid injury as if you were a mortal, and avoid magic as if it were poison. Can you do that for me?”

Thor nodded, awash in regret for some of the assumptions he’d been willing to make about his brother, just moments earlier. 

“Good. I’ll check in when I can,” Loki said, and began to leave. 

“Loki—” Thor called after him, but when Loki turned back, his eyes were wary, and Thor knew that once again he’d messed things up. 

Thor had no idea how to say what was in his heart. He was sorry, he was angry, he was worried about Asgard, Hela and Ragnarok, spooked by the Grandmaster, confused and apprehensive about Sakaar in general, ashamed by his own behavior just now, and, he wanted Loki to forgive him. 

Not knowing what to say, Thor tossed the remnant of Mjolnir to his brother. 

Loki caught it, and seemed briefly frozen in place. 

“…Keep it,” Thor conceded. 

The corner of Loki’s mouth quivered, but fell short of mustering a smile. 

It seemed like someone should say something. “…I don’t really know what you’re up to,” Thor rumbled, to fill the trench of silence between them. “But, whatever it is, good luck.” 

“Thank you,” Loki said coolly, and headed for the door. At the exit he paused and looked back one last time. “You be careful with that Hulk,” he warned, and stepped across the threshold. 

***

Loki headed straight back to his secret base of operations on Sakaar, not the least bit sorry that his brother would probably be berating himself for hours. 

Once he was sure no one was following or monitoring him, Loki accessed the door of his little hideout. From the outside it resembled a derelict janitor’s closet, but inside, it was a room of infinite mirrors. Loki touched the nearest reflection of his hand and drew a faintly shimmering box out of the wall. 

Lifting off the lid, Loki placed the little piece of Mjolnir into the box, alongside all the other pieces of his brother’s famous weapon. He’d been in a considerable rush while collecting them, but he was pretty sure he had them all. 

“The Shards of Mjolnir,” Loki mused quietly, a smile quirking his face. “Oh, what am I going to do with you?” 

He turned one hand in the air, creating a replica of that last little shard which Thor had so kindly returned to him. Checking his reflection, Loki tacked the conjured illusion of the shard to the breast of his jacket, right where the actual piece had been when Thor accidentally discovered it. 

“At least now I know that this is a secure place to keep you,” Loki went on, talking to the scraps of metal in the box. “It was silly of me to keep a piece of you out in plain view, but I couldn’t resist. And now I know that if I take you out of there, Thor _can_ still summon you.” 

The gears were turning in Loki’s mind, predicting, plotting, sketching ahead. “…and that’s very valuable information.” Loki slipped the lid back onto the box, and slid the box back into the wall, leaving no trace of its location. He caught his own eyes in the mirror and felt a thrill at the prospect of the upcoming challenge. The game may have changed—but Loki, as ever, had an ace up his sleeve. 


	7. Thor throws ball

Hulk yawned hugely as he woke up from his nap. Right away, he looked over to the place where Thor had been sitting beside him when he fell asleep—but his prize was not there. 

“Where Thor!?” Hulk roared, a note of anguish in his voice. He had a vague notion that the Grandmaster might have snuck in and removed Thor from Hulk’s room while Hulk was asleep. 

“Over here,” called Thor’s voice, much to the Hulk’s relief. The God of Thunder was slumped against the opposite wall, looking very gloomy, and in Hulk’s opinion, very small. 

“Good,” Hulk humphed, and shook his head and shoulders a little, shaking himself loose from the feeling that he’d been unfairly deprived of something that belonged to him. He stood up and stretched. “Thor stay,” he said.

“Haven’t got a choice,” Thor grumbled. He watched as Hulk picked up a large bucket, and a split second later a horrible idea occurred to him: Surely—surely in living quarters such as these, even though it was a sort of a prison cell—surely that bucket wasn’t meant to be the toilet?? 

Hulk dipped the bucket into the hot tub. Then, holding the bucket with both hands, he brought it to his mouth like an enormous cup, taking huge gulps.

Thor made a face, totally grossed out. “Are you drinking the bathwater??”

“Mm,” said Hulk once the bucket was empty. “Hulk thirsty.”

“But you bathed in that!” Thor seemed highly offended. “That’s disgusting—ugh. You know what? Nevermind.” He held up his hands, done with this. “Do what you want.” 

“Thor thirsty?” Hulk asked after a minute. It seemed reasonable to Hulk that whatever he was feeling, Thor might be feeling also. 

“Not for bathwater, that’s for sure,” Thor grumbled, but realized his mouth was dry and the thought of water was nearly irresistible. “…Do you have anything else?”

Hulk nodded, and tromped around behind the tub, where the fake rocks of the tub’s waterfall back formed a sort of partition. There was a large basin built into the wall as a sink, and a cupboard with a row of enormous ceramic mugs. 

Hulk filled a mug with water from a tap at the sink, and carried it over to Thor. 

“Thank you,” Thor said, accepting the mug. It was comically oversized for Thor, and like the Hulk had done with the bucket, Thor had to use both hands to raise the mug to his lips. 

Thor thought of something. “Hold on—this isn’t magic water, is it?”

Hulk shook his head. “No magic,” he said. 

“Good.” Thor drank the mug dry. The water did make him feel a little better, but it was no cure for his regret over how he’d treated his brother. Setting the mug aside, he leaned his head back against the wall, and absently followed the Hulk around the room with his eyes. 

“What do you do in here all day, anyway?” Thor asked after a while. 

Hulk shrugged. “Eat, sleep. Take bath. Throw ball.” 

Thor had noticed several medicine balls lying around, of various colors and sizes. Hulk picked one of these up and lobbed it against the wall to demonstrate. With a loud thud, it left a dent on top of thousands upon thousands of other dents. Hulk caught it and threw it again and again, bouncing it off the dented wall in a mind-numbing, stress-relieving, incredibly repetitive exercise. Thud thud thud thud. 

“So you just throw a ball at a wall, for hours on end?” Thor said in obvious disapproval. 

Hulk frowned at Thor’s tone, and chucked the ball at Thor’s face instead. 

Thor caught it with both hands—it was much heavier than it looked, and from his seated position he had to tense up all the muscles in his chest and core to stop the ball’s momentum. 

Instantly angered to have been so targeted, Thor hurled it back at Hulk with all his might. 

Thrown by Thor, the ball was much more fun to catch than when it simply bounced off the wall. Hulk’s face lit up. After just a second’s delay, the ball was hurtling once again towards Thor’s head. 

“Stop it!” Thor growled, totally provoked. Hulk laughed as Thor launched the ball at Hulk again, even more forcefully than the first time. 

“Again!” exclaimed the Hulk, throwing it back at Thor. 

This time Thor wised up. Thor caught the ball and firmly put it down on the ground next to him, using it as an armrest. 

Hulk’s face fell. “Aww…” Hulk groaned in dismay. 

“Isn’t there anything else we can do?” Thor asked. 

Hulk shrugged. “Watch TV?” he suggested, and palmed a panel in the wall. A screen appeared, and Thor scrambled to his feet (and nearly jumped out of his skin) as the Grandmaster’s voice filled the room. 

“My loyal citizens, how about that fight last night!?” the screen began showing highlights of Hulk and Thor’s clash in the arena. “It was a real doozy, one for the record books, and we are committed to bringing you even more of what you love. Last night’s contender, our favorite Lord of Thunder, there he is—” Thor found himself looking at a huge image of his own face on the screen. It was not a flattering shot—they’d selected a screencap from the middle of the fight, and Thor had a horribly strained expression on his face. 

“I look ridiculous,” Thor scowled. “They could have used a better picture!”

The Grandmaster’s voiceover on the program continued. “Well folks, what can I tell you--Since he’s still alive, I can guarantee that you’re all going to get as much of his ‘Thunder’ as you can stand. That’s right, stay tuned for the details: we’re putting him on public display!” 

“What?” Thor grit his teeth. 

“And if you’d like a private showing, just call the number on your screen and place your bid now.”

“Oh no,” Thor said in a pained voice. 

Hulk turned off the TV. 

“I was watching that!” Thor protested. “Turn it back on—we can learn more about the Grandmaster’s plans!”

Hulk had a grumpy expression on his face. “Hulk not want to,” he said. 

Thor was getting angrier by the minute. “Didn’t you hear what he said? Putting me on public display? What is that??” 

Hulk looked annoyed. “Just stand still. People look.”

“Wait a minute—They’ve done that to you?”

The huge green head nodded. “Public display. Sometimes.” 

“Hulk… I can’t believe you let them treat you that way. Like an exhibit, some animal in a zoo? That’s horrible!” 

Hulk shrugged. “Display not worst thing.” 

Thor blinked, and suddenly wondered just how it had happened, that the Hulk had been made into the Beloved Champion. “…What is the worst thing?” he asked after a beat. 

There was something stormy, deep in the Hulk’s eyes. “…Long time alone,” he answered. 

For a second Thor forgot about his own problems, imagining what a torment something like solitary confinement would be for the Hulk: a being of rage, with nothing to rage against except himself. “Oh,” Thor said, feeling a stab of pity for the creature beside him. “Hulk, that’s…I’m sorry.” 

Compelled by the need to make up for whatever wrongs had been done to the Hulk in the past, Thor reached out and put his hand on a great green shoulder. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but he was a little surprised when the Hulk didn’t pull away. 

“Do you…want to talk about it?” Thor asked awkwardly, giving the Hulk’s shoulder a supportive rub. 

Hulk shrugged again. “Hulk got stuck in big, dark, nothing. Grandmaster let Hulk out.”

“After trapping you there in the first place, no doubt,” Thor assumed angrily. “And that’s how he won your loyalty?” 

“Grandmaster good to me,” Hulk insisted, rolling his shoulder to shake Thor’s hand away. 

“No, he’s terrible! He’s enslaving people, torturing them, making you kill—how can you go along with it?” 

“Hulk likes winning!” Hulk almost shouted. 

Thor winced and backed off. “Ok. Fine. Can you please just turn that screen back on? It’s really important.”

Sticking out his lower lip, Hulk couldn’t think of a reason to refuse, so he reluctantly reactivated his Sakaarian TV. It was still showing scenes from the big fight, but the Grandmaster’s voiceover had ended and now two alien sportscasters were doing a play-by-play analysis of the action, chattering urgently and drawing little circles and arrows all over the footage to show the angle of this and the trajectory of that, watch-what-he-does-with-this-hand here and see-how-his-leg-slides-into-position-there. 

Thor watched the program half-heartedly for a moment, but couldn’t follow it. He cast a sideways glance at the Hulk, who was staring in the general direction of the screen as if automatically programmed to do so. He was totally zoned-out, with a glazed-over expression, barely aware of what he was looking at. That vacant-stare thing he was doing made Thor a little nervous. 

“All right turn it off,” Thor sighed, relieved when the sound of his voice promptly shifted the Hulk out of his vacuous state. Hulk shut the TV off. 

Silence fell clumsily around the room. Thor scratched the back of his scalp—the short hair felt weird, prickly. This whole thing was very frustrating. 

“Want throw ball?” asked Hulk hopefully.

Thor made a face indicating that no, he did not want to throw the ball, but he also didn’t want to upset the Hulk if it wasn’t strictly necessary. 

“How about food?” Thor asked, sitting back down against the wall. 

“No throw food,” Hulk scolded.

“I meant eat food,” Thor clarified. 

Hulk thought about that, nodded, and moved, gorilla-like, to another cupboard around by the sink. There was a hiss as he opened the door, as if he’d pried open something pressurized. Thor watched in a mix of curiosity and dread as the Hulk pulled a bulky gray-blue lump the size of a small cow out of the cupboard. It looked a little bit squishy. 

Hulk tore the thing in half, and (despite telling Thor not to throw food) tossed one of the halves to his new roommate. 

Thor caught it like a sack of potatoes and eyed it with suspicion. It was almost as large as his own torso, and felt like a giant blob of tofu, a food Jane had made him eat once on Earth. “What is this? Is it meat? Or—is it some kind of--cake?” He sniffed it, relieved to discover that the smell wasn’t half bad. 

“Meatcake,” Hulk informed him, taking a huge bite of his half. The irony that the foodstuff was indeed both of the things Thor had guessed was lost on both of them. 

“It’s not made of, um, dead gladiators or anything, is it?”

“No,” Hulk said. “Trashworms.” He chomped another bite, crumbs falling from his mouth. “Big ones.” 

“Oh, big trashworms, excellent,” Thor said sarcastically. “Appetizing.” He swallowed , realizing that he was actually kind of hungry. “Last question—this isn’t magical in any way, is it?”

“Thor picky eater,” growled the Hulk.

“No I’m not,” Thor said hotly. “I just can’t eat anything with magic in it right now.”

“Thor on diet,” Hulk chuckled. “Like girl.” 

“I am not!” Thor was feeling an urge to do exactly what Hulk had told him not to do, and throw the food—right into someone’s big green face. Instead, magic be damned, he took an angry bite of the stuff, chewing aggressively, stuffing as much of the meatcake into his mouth as he could.

“It not magic,” Hulk told him, in a conciliatory tone. 

“Great,” Thor said, grumpily taking another bite. 

Mistaking that comment for approval of the taste, Hulk’s face brightened in a toothy grin. 

They ate together in silence for a while, except for the wet, grunty sounds of the Hulk chewing. While Hulk eventually finished his half, the half that Thor had been eating resembled a hunk of cheese that a rodent had nibbled, even after Thor had eaten his fill. Hulk eyed the uneaten portion wistfully, until finally Thor caught on. 

Thor held up the remaining meatcake in Hulk’s direction, raising his eyebrows and wordlessly asking if Hulk indeed wanted the rest of it. Hulk perked up, nodded, and took it gratefully. He then pointed to the bitemarks and laughed. 

“Thor have tiny mouth,” Hulk noted with glee. 

“Whatever,” Thor groused, as Hulk scarfed down the rest of the food. 

Their meal complete, Hulk stretched, yawned again, shook himself like a dog after a bath, and began to gather up his armor. 

“Going somewhere?” Thor asked. 

“Training,” Hulk answered. 

Thor tilted his head, intrigued. Apparently the Hulk was allowed to leave his room for ‘training’? Thor had a million questions. How often was this permitted? Just how much freedom did the Hulk have? What sort of training was it? 

“Can I come?” Thor asked. 

“Hmmm…” Hulk looked uncertain. He stomped over to the place where the TV control had been and booped a large flat button. 

“Yes?” said a staticky, nearly robotic voice, from an unseen speaker. 

“Umm, Hulk have question,” Hulk said to the button, sounding a little guilty, like a child who might ask for a cookie he knew he wasn’t allowed to have. “Hulk go to training…and...”

“…state your question,” prompted the robot voice. 

“uh…can Hulk bring friend?”

Thor felt a little prickle of adrenaline. This was entirely unexpected: the Hulk communicating requests to some anonymous authority, the possibility of being let out of the Hulk’s room—which meant, possibly, some opportunities for escape—and of course the Hulk now confirming, actually verbalizing, that Thor was his friend. It was all very encouraging. 

“No.” The robot voice was almost rudely curt. There was a clicking noise as if the robot had hung up the phone. 

To Thor’s continued surprise, the Hulk accepted the robot’s pronouncement as unarguable. “Sorry,” he said to Thor. 

Thor slumped against the wall, realizing it had been a little silly to get his hopes up about being allowed to leave. The Hulk finished putting his armor on, and headed towards the door. 

“Hulk trains,” he announced, gruff. 

“Great. Have fun,” said Thor. He watched dejectedly as the Hulk made his way through the doorway and down the hall—where he met up with none other than Scrapper 142. 

Thor couldn’t believe it. Valkyrie and the Hulk were clearly joking around, best of pals—hadn’t she sold the Hulk to the Grandmaster, the same as Thor? Why was Hulk so happy to see her? Thor felt a tiny bit slighted, almost—no, certainly not jealous—since only moments ago he had begun to consider himself Hulk’s closest (and only) friend on Sakaar—which clearly was not the case. 

Well—Thor had other friends too, of course, though maybe not on this planet—and suddenly he remembered one of them in particular, who might be able to help him out: Heimdall.

As soon as Hulk and Valkyrie were out of sight, Thor made his way to the window, looking up at the wormholes in the sky. 

“Heimdall,” he muttered solemnly, reaching out through the cosmos with his plea. “I know you can see me...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yup we've tied back in with the movie, just keeping us on track...  
> I wanted to get a little farther in this chapter but, oh, we will get there!! patience!!


	8. The opposite of hurting (feels so good)

Heimdall showed Thor the situation on Asgard—Hela growing stronger, the people taking refuge in an ancient mountain stronghold. There was talk of an evacuation.

In a blink Thor found himself back on Sakaar. He knew he had to return to Asgard, and Heimdall had made it sound all too easy:

_“You’re on a planet surrounded by doorways. Go through one.”_

_“Which one?”_ Thor had asked, desperate for any advice. 

_“The big one!”_

Well, at least it was easy to see which one Heimdall meant. Thor’s plan for escape was beginning to take shape: he would fly the Quinjet through the gaping red wormhole. The only part he still had to figure out was how to get out of the Hulk’s room. 

A more thorough exploration of the suite didn’t turn up anything promising. There was a giant bathroom after all, and a giant closet stocked with several different Hulk-sized outfits, everything from shimmery ceremonial robes to the Sakaarian equivalent of sweatpants. But there weren’t any trapdoors or secret ways out. The windows, Thor thought, really might be breakable, and he was tempted to try to break them now—but what if the windows had the same perimeter sensors as the door? If so, then the moment Thor went out the window, the obedience disk would bring him down--and Loki had warned him to avoid getting zapped for the next few days. 

Thor was still brooding over all of this when the Hulk returned from his training session, escorted once again by the fallen Valkyrie. They were both in a jovial mood, laughing together over something that had happened in the arena. 

Valkyrie locked eyes with Thor as she dropped the Hulk off at the doorway.

Thor gave her his best glare—it was supposed to be an expression of ‘stay-away-from-Hulk-you’re-a-bad-influence-on-him’ mixed with a measure of ‘I’m-disappointed-in-you-how-could-you-betray-your-heritage’, but mostly what came across was just an appeal for sympathy.

Valkyrie rolled her eyes. “Pathetic,” she murmured, and brandished her fob device. “Do you still not understand your place?” She tapped a tiny button, and Thor flinched, expecting pain—but nothing happened. 

“There you go,” Valkyrie smirked, and nodded over at the Hulk’s intercom button on the wall, which now blinked a dull red light. 

“What did you do?” Thor asked, rubbing the obedience disk self-consciously. 

“I set the system in here on auto-mode. If you give my Hulk any trouble, it’ll teach you not to.”

“ _Your_ Hulk??” Thor looked back and forth between her and the Hulk, incredulous. 

Hulk just shrugged—it didn’t bother him. 

Valkyrie gave a little smile and spun on her heel, striding away with the satisfied attitude of a person who had just put a particularly annoying rival in their place. 

“Grrr…” Thor felt flustered, but there was nothing he could do. 

“Training good,” Hulk reported, grinning. “Train to win. Winning feels good.” 

“We’ve been over this,” Thor snapped at him. “It isn’t real winning; the matches are staged. You’re being manipulated and you’re stupid enough to enjoy it.” 

Hulk went from cheerful to furious in a flash. “Thor wrong!” Hulk yelled. 

The button on the wall beeped. “Punishable behavior has been detected,” said the robot voice. 

“What? What did I do?” Thor asked, annoyed. 

“You have angered the Beloved Champion,” the voice replied. “The obedience disk will be activated in five seconds.”

What was with Sakaarian systems warning people about what they’d experience in five seconds? Later, Thor would mull this over and conclude that it was intended to inspire dread and anticipation for something that was going to occur too imminently to stop it, but just far enough in the future to experience a peak surge of terror. Loki would call it ingenious. 

At the moment, though, Thor didn’t have time to think about any of that. His hand clamped over the disk in his neck. 

“Oh no,” he said. “Hulk, I’m sorry. Shut it off.” 

“Hn,” Hulk grunted, unconvinced. 

“Four…” said the robot voice. 

“I can’t get zapped right now,” Thor tried to explain, his voice growing desperate. “You’ve got to help me.” 

“Three,” announced the voice from the wall, utterly dispassionate. 

“Please—please turn it off!” Thor begged, and Hulk realized something terrible: Thor was afraid. 

Fear was something the Hulk knew well. Fear felt by an enemy was great, it was fuel, it was exciting. It often went hand-in-hand with anger felt by an enemy, and it didn’t bother Hulk at all. But fear felt by a _friend_ …it was awful. 

Hulk felt a great welling-up of shame, that same dark feeling that had touched him at the end of their big fight. Had Hulk done something wrong? Was Thor afraid of Hulk? The shame was confusing. Hulk hated it.

And Hulk didn’t want Thor to be afraid. 

“Two,” the system said. 

Hulk roared and punched the red-blinking button, demolishing it. Nothing was left but a hole the shape of Hulk’s fist. 

“…Auto-mode has been deactivated,” said the robot voice. 

Thor took a huge breath, relieved. “Thank you, Hulk.” 

The sincerity in Thor’s voice was an instant balm, but Hulk sensed that further reconciliation was required. He reached out a massive hand and awkwardly patted Thor on the back, which Thor tolerated quite well. 

“I’ve got to get this disk off me,” Thor thought aloud, for the thousandth time. “If only Loki would steal one of the controllers for me.”

“Loki?” Hulk was taken aback. Hulk had been having a moment with his friend, or so he thought—but the mention of that other Asgardian demigod totally ruined it. 

“Yes, he’s sneaking around here somewhere—he’s very close with the Grandmaster, you know.”

“Ugh,” Hulk sneered in disgust. “Loki bad.”

“Sometimes, but not all the time,” Thor said lightly. 

“Most of time,” grumbled Hulk. 

Thor considered that, wobbled his head back and forth a little. “Maybe. But he’s still my brother. I still love him.”

“Why?” Hulk demanded. 

“Because…” Thor trailed off, looking at the Hulk quizzically. “That’s just how it works. Didn’t Banner have any family?”

The Hulk seemed to turn a much darker shade of green. Thor had not done any of the Avengers-related reading that Nick Fury had assigned him to do, and thus had no idea that bringing up Banner’s tragic, abused childhood was a standard taboo in dealing with the Hulk. Fortunately, Hulk had been Hulk for such a long time now, even those harshest memories of Banner’s life were distant shadows. 

“No Banner!” insisted the Hulk. 

“Well,” Thor pressed on, oblivious to the landmine he’d just stepped over. “Didn’t you ever feel love for anyone, at least?”

Hulk shook his head. “No love,” he said in a low voice. “Too angry.” 

Thor looked up at him in a mix of pity and curiosity. “I don’t believe that,” he said. “You’re angry, sure, but you seem capable of other feelings too.”

“Hulk feels… mad,” Hulk informed him. 

Thor let out an exasperated sigh. “A moment ago you patted me on the back, remember?” He strode over to the Hulk and patted the back of a monstrous green deltoid, to demonstrate. “Like this. What did you feel then?” 

Hulk thought back, his brain working hard. Of course he remembered what he’d been feeling—he’d wanted to console his friend, reassure him, let him know that he didn’t have to feel afraid anymore. Hulk had wanted Thor to see him as a comfort rather than a threat. But Hulk didn’t have the words for explaining any of that. He couldn’t even determine if that feeling had been good or bad, and the ambiguity enraged him. 

“Hulk felt… Thor small!” Hulk decided. 

Thor bristled, to Hulk’s delight. “Yes: when your hand touched my back I am sure you were able to feel that I am smaller than you. Anyone with eyes can see that you are much larger than I am. But my point is, you weren’t feeling angry.”

“Maybe felt…little angry,” grumped the Hulk. 

“Did you want to hurt me?”

“…No,” Hulk admitted. 

“No! That’s right. You didn’t want to hurt me—and what’s the opposite of hurting someone? Helping them. You patted me on the back because you wanted to help me. Because you’re my friend, and you care about me, and that’s good.” 

Hulk had an epiphany. “Hulk can care about friend and be angry at same time,” he said, in a truly dazzling display of communication.

Reeling from the effect of the longest sentence he’d ever heard the Hulk speak, Thor gave up. 

“Nevermind,” Thor said, abandoning the conversation. “Just—forget it.” 

He sat down in a huff, brooding on his own problems once again. 

Shrugging off his friend’s inscrutable return to a state of dejection, Hulk busied himself by removing his training gear and settling into the steaming hot tub for a post-workout bath, as was his routine. 

Thor, watching from the corner of his eye, was certain that the hot water felt amazing. After only a few minutes, Hulk seemed completely relaxed, leaning his head back against the fake rock wall. When Hulk activated the little waterfall that sent fresh sheets of water pouring down over his shoulders, Thor was almost tempted to ask if he could join him—which Hulk must have somehow sensed. The tub was the room’s best feature, and Hulk didn’t mind sharing it.

“Thor want bath now?” 

“Um, sure,” Thor confessed. “Haven’t had a bath in a number of days—I was sitting in a cage in Muspelheim before this little adventure started; can’t even remember how long I was there.”

Hulk scooted over and indicated the spot beside him. “There’s room,” he offered. 

Thor eyed the water for just a split second before making up his mind. “Why not,” he sighed. “Hulk _and Thor!_ in a hot tub, nice relaxing hot tub—totally fine!” he stripped off his kit while he was talking, and stepped down into the tub. 

“Eh-heh,” Hulk chuckled. 

“Not a word,” Thor cautioned.

“…small,” Hulk teased under his breath. 

“Only compared to you,” Thor grumbled, lowering himself the rest of the way into the water. 

“Oh,” Thor realized, almost immediately. “This is nice.” 

It was more than nice—it was magnificent. The water was the perfect temperature to ease away all aches and strains. Powerful jets around the walls provided a thrumming massage, and the waterfall—Thor leaned his head back into the cascading sheet of water, rejoicing internally at the sheer glory of it coursing down his face, pummeling his scalp as if washing free all the bad memories of the past day-and-a-half on Sakaar. 

He brought his hands up and scrubbed at his new haircut, rinsing all the sweat and grime of the arena out of his newly-shortened hair. “Awful old man,” Thor mumbled. “It’s a wonder he didn’t cut my ears off while he was at it.” 

“Thor ok?” Hulk asked. 

“Thor’s great,” Thor assured him. “This hot tub is wonderful. I can’t even tell you how good this—” he nestled himself against the wall, so the jets aligned down his back. “Ah—so good.” He closed his eyes, letting the stress seep right out of his skin. “So, so good…” 

“What’s so good?” Hulk asked, dubious. He knew a hot bath felt good in general, but Thor was being suspiciously over-enthusiastic. 

Thor barely had time to protest before a huge green hand grabbed his arm and dragged him halfway across the tub. With much splashing and at least half of a startled shout from Thor (the other half was lost in bubbles as Thor’s head was briefly submerged), Hulk had traded their places so that he was now sitting at the part of the wall that Thor had been enjoying so much. 

“What is wrong with you?!” Thor spluttered. “You trying to drown me?”

Hulk was running his hand along the wall under the water. “What’s ‘so good’?” Hulk asked again. 

“The jets, the water!” Thor explained, aggravated. “They’re like, shooting water at you--it's a perfect massage.”

“Not fair!” Hulk pronounced. “Hulk want that.” 

“Just sit back against the jets! Right there—but for your information there’s plenty on this side too, you didn’t have to take my spot.” 

Hulk looked fit to have the world’s worst Hulk-sulk, right there in the tub. “It not working!” he complained. 

Thor splashed his way over to the Hulk and put his hand in front of one of the jets. “It’s working perfectly,” he verified. “Maybe your skin’s too thick to feel it.” 

Now, the Hulk looked even more upset. This tub belonged to Hulk, had been built for him especially, and he soaked in it every day—and now he learned it contained a feature that Hulk couldn’t fully experience? He couldn’t believe that someone else could enjoy his special tub more than Hulk could. It felt like a betrayal. 

“Now, hold on, don’t start—” Thor sensed an oncoming tantrum, wondered if anything he could say would fend it off. 

“AUURGH,” roared the Hulk in frustration, two huge fists smashing down by his sides and sending up great geysers of water. 

“—doing that,” Thor finished flatly, holding up his hands to ineffectively block the choppy waves. “Hulk—I have an idea!” 

Reluctantly, Hulk calmed himself to listen. 

“Remember how you wanted to help me? Yes? Good—now I want to help you. Ok? Can you sit, there?” 

Hulk glumly sat in the tub as Thor indicated, narrowing his eyes as Thor moved around behind him. 

Thor took a big breath in, surveying the Hulk’s back with a critical eye. Traps, delts, lats—all perfectly familiar in form and function, though staggeringly gargantuan in size. Well, it was worth a try. He wrapped his hands over the meaty slopes of the Hulk’s trapezius, on either side of the thick green neck, and squeezed. 

A little shiver ran through the muscle, and the Hulk made a noise that was almost a squeak. 

“D’you like that?” Thor asked, doing it again. 

“Ugh,” groaned Hulk, eyes nearly rolling back in his head. “Yes.” 

“All right, big guy,” Thor grinned, leaning into it. “Then I guess this is happening. Back rub, in a hot tub. So fun.” 

“Stop stupid talk,” Hulk ordered. “Just rub.” 

Thor nodded and, still gripping the tops of those monstrous traps, pressed his thumbs into the muscle, hard. 

“Auuhhm,” Hulk didn’t even know what kind of noise he was making. He was somewhere between twitching and thrashing. “Feels good.”

“Bet you never got a backrub from anyone strong enough to do it properly,” Thor mused, slowly rubbing his thumbs in circles down either side of the Hulk’s spine. 

“Never,” Hulk confirmed, his voice sounding a little lost. 

“That’s too bad,” Thor told him. “A nice hot bath is always good but, sometimes…” he found a particularly dense knot and crushed it with the heel of his palm, rolling the tension out of every fiber. “…this is better.” 

Hulk closed his eyes, barely able to process this unexpected pleasure. Nothing else—not victory in the arena, not the adoration of the crowds or the praise of the Grandmaster, not any of the privileges of his status as Champion--not even the fun of training with Angry Girl--nothing came anywhere close to feeling as good as Thor’s hands felt on Hulk’s back, pulling and squeezing and kneading out every stiff strand of Hulk’s being. 

And this meant something new: if Thor made Hulk feel this amazing, Thor must be very special indeed. 

“Thor good friend,” Hulk sputtered, unable to more adequately express his gratitude. 

“Aw, thanks big guy,” Thor grinned, working his hands outwards towards the Hulk’s daunting shoulders. “You’re a good friend too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heheheh... if you think it's weird now, just you wait. There is so much more coming up! Gaaah! *furiously types next chapter*


	9. Charming the spider

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a little Grandmaster/Loki chapter (little? um, actually this chapter is enormous) --not gonna lie, things get weird. *rubs hands together* We'll be back to the Hulk/Thor wonderfulness in a minute.  
> Enjoy!

“Loki, Loki, Loki,” The Grandmaster sashayed over to where Loki stood waiting for him, a glowing blue drink in his hand. “We meet again.” 

“Grandmaster,” Loki nodded to him politely. “I trust everything is up to your standards?”

“This party?” The Grandmaster gestured around the casino floor where the events of the day were in full swing. “Perfection. I knew you could handle it.” 

Loki smiled. He’d handpicked the bookies, the DJs, the dancers, the dealers--and the guest list had been scrubbed with a fine-toothed comb in a careful bending of the idiom, as it were. Today marked the first large-scale event Loki had coordinated, as part of his ongoing plot to make himself indispensable to the Grandmaster—so that Loki could eventually supplant him, of course. 

“And actually I’m so glad I ran into you—there’s something I’d like to… show… you,” The Grandmaster dropped his voice and raised his eyebrows in a not-at-all-subtle indication of intrigue and secrecy. “Come on. It’s in the back room.” 

Ah, finally: the back room. Loki had been on Sakaar long enough to have heard all the rumors about the things that went on in there. And now at last, an invitation. 

Was Loki ready for this? He thrust his shoulders back a little, tensed his jaw. He was ready for anything. 

Two guards stood on either side of an arched, white-glowing door. Riding on one of those hover-rolling chairs, flanked by his cat-walking golden ladies, the Grandmaster glided through the door, Loki following behind. 

Through the guarded door, Loki was surprised to discover, was a second door identical to the first, guarded once again by two guards—the same two, Loki was certain. 

“They think they’ve been on duty for about an hour,” the Grandmaster whispered over his shoulder, “But it’s been more like a couple hundred years.” 

“Impressive,” Loki judged, totally sincere. They crossed through that door as well, only to find a third door, guarded once again by the time-trapped guards. 

“Let me tell you about this,” The Grandmaster motioned to Loki, rolling through the door for the third time. “The number of times that the door repeats changes each time, and I’m the only one who knows the number. It’s totally random. One time it was a hundred and thirty—that’s why I always ride one of these chairs into the back room—never know when you might have to walk through the door for an hour to get there.” 

Loki nodded slowly, processing this. “And if someone doesn’t already have in their mind the correct number of doors, they repeat going through the door indefinitely.”

“Right you are,” the Grandmaster declared, as he went through the door for the fourth time. “Aren’t you just the brightest thing? I swear nobody else understands what I’m doing half the time, but you—you catch right on.” 

The Grandmaster rolled through the door a fifth and sixth time, and finally, behind the seventh iteration of the door, was the back room. 

“Here we are!” the Grandmaster announced triumphantly. “The fabled, the famous, the scandalous _back room_ : where I bring only the most interesting people, so that we can get to know each other on a, let’s say, more intimate level.” 

Loki looked around. There was nothing in the room—or there was everything in the room, depending on how you wanted to look at it. Loki tried to keep himself focused but the magic of the place was making him dizzy. 

“Oh, where are my manners? Here, have a sip of this.” The Grandmaster handed Loki the glowing blue drink which Loki had seen him carrying around at the party—but hadn’t seen him drink any of. 

Loki could have rolled his eyes. Was this not the oldest set-up in the book? Was anyone in the Nine Realms or beyond foolish enough to follow an eccentric hedonist back to his magical sanctum and then take a sip of an offered beverage? 

“Just a little aphrodisiac I’ve been working on,” the Grandmaster mentioned, off-hand. 

Oh. Well then. Loki had of course been suspecting exactly that, but, he hadn’t been prepared for the Grandmaster to come right out and admit it. But, now that the drink's nature was out in the open…

Loki brought the glass to his lips and took the tiniest taste. “Hmf,” he flinched, trying not to cough. “Tastes like… coconut.” 

“Does it?” The Grandmaster asked with a wide smile. “Sounds enchanting. Tastes pretty bad though, right? The recipe is such a nightmare.”

“Yes, it’s--horrible,” Loki reported, relieved that he didn’t have to pretend to like it. 

“But you do like the color?” 

Loki considered the glowing liquid—it reminded him of the Tesseract. “I do like the color,” he admitted. One of the golden ladies lifted the glass from his hand. “Thank you…” Loki tried to say to her, but she ignored him, and took a deep drink. 

Loki tried not to seem disturbed by the ominous fact that the golden ladies were now gracefully passing the aphrodisiac back and forth to each other, taking sips in turn until the glass was empty. “Um… what did you want to show me?” Loki asked the Grandmaster, although by now he was already fairly certain he knew where all of this was going, and was not especially eager to get on with it. 

“Oh, right!” The Grandmaster pressed a button on his chair and a screen illuminated in the middle of the room. “Will you look at this? Can you believe what your brother is up to?” 

Loki peered at the display, which showed the interior of the Hulk’s room. At first Loki didn’t see anything amiss, but then he noticed that the Hulk was hunkered down in the tub—and, unless Loki was mistaken (and he did wish, in that moment, that he was mistaken), Thor was in the water too, with his hands all over the Hulk’s shoulders. “What?” Loki wondered, twisting his face up. “Is he… what is he doing?” 

“I’ll tell you what he’s doing, he’s seducing my Beloved Champion,” the Grandmaster declared, sounding miffed. “Can you believe that?”

Loki laughed, for once in a genuinely light-hearted way. “No, I can’t,” he said honestly, shaking his head. “Not Thor.”

“Hmm.” The Grandmaster snapped his fingers. The screen vanished in a flash and the golden ladies sidled over and froze into poses on either side of his chair, statuesque. Loki wasn’t quite sure what was happening, but he didn’t like the way the Grandmaster was staring at him. “Why ‘not Thor’?” the Grandmaster asked, sounding unnervingly patient. 

“It’s not his…style, I don’t know,” Loki said dismissively. “He’s not a, not someone to…”

“Oh I don’t know about that,” The Grandmaster settled back in his chair, leaning to one side and crossing his legs at the knees. “I think that might be exactly his style—I’ve been thinking about your brother quite a lot, ever since he miraculously survived the fight against my Champion—but thinking only goes so far, you know? Eventually you need to get around to hands-on, physical, research. Just so I can get a sense of what we’re really dealing with here. I mean, how marketable is he, really?”

Good, the subject of how to make Thor ‘profitable’ had come up: Loki had been preparing for this conversation. “I do have some ideas pertaining to that,” he said quickly. “I’ve been in contact with a media source who will pay two million units for—”

“Loki, Loki!” The Grandmaster interrupted him, looking briefly up at the ceiling. He shook his head, amused by Loki’s ambition. “Two million units? Adorable. This is my fault; I’m obviously not being very clear about what I want. You, my dear, are a shapeshifter, are you not?”

“You noticed,” Loki said automatically, pretending to be flattered. 

“So…” the Grandmaster wiggled his eyebrows, made a sweeping motion with his hand. “Shift. Shape.”

“What would you like me to…” 

“I think you can figure it out,” the Grandmaster spoke with utter nonchalance, but his eyes were like black stones. “Help me with my…research.”

For all his layers, cynicism upon deception upon cynicism, Loki balked. Was there a line? Would he cross it, if there were? There was no going back now—the only way out of this web was through charming the spider. 

Falling silent, Loki hid himself within the likeness of his brother—in his silvered armor, red cape nearly brushing the floor, golden hair falling around his shoulders. Mjolnir—purely a conjured image, nothing more—in his hand. 

“My, my, my,” said the Grandmaster, taking this all in. He stood up from his chair, circled Loki once, stepped in close and brushed a lock of hair away from his face. “I guess this would be, the, hmm, what should we call it, the Classic look,” he said. Then his voice dropped. “Show me what he looked like last night.”

Loki thought through it, made the changes—the cropped hair, the battered armor, the torn-short cape. Two red stripes painted down the side of his face. 

“Better, better. Oh, that just screams ‘Sakaar!’ at you, don’t you think?” the Grandmaster was getting excited. “Loki, this is flawless. You have a rare talent.”

“Thank you,” Loki replied, looking straight ahead. Deep, deep down, he sighed. He’d had lots of practice at impersonating his brother—mostly just to frame Thor for harmless pranks, countless times, and occasionally to embarrass or terrify someone when the mere sight of Loki himself wouldn’t do. 

“And this… brother of yours, yikes.” The Grandmaster was circling him again. “Let me see the arms. Do the thing, the muscle thing, you know…” the Grandmaster weakly mimed a pose, looking like an odd species of bird. 

No amount of control could keep Loki from rolling his eyes this time. “Here you go,” he said in Thor’s voice, as benignly accommodating as Thor would probably sound. He curled a bicep, which the Grandmaster immediately grabbed onto with both hands.

“Yeh-heh-hesss, this right here. Yummy. This is what I need,” murmured the Grandmaster. “So solid! I just want to sink my teeth into it.”

And without further discussion, the Grandmaster did exactly that. 

“Aah!” Loki cringed, startled by the unexpected clamp of teeth on his arm, but quickly recovered his composure. “Oh—you meant that quite literally,” he realized aloud, as the Grandmaster slowly turned the bite into something more like a kiss, pulling away with a soft suck. 

“There,” said the Grandmaster, changing his tone again. He stepped back as if to admire his work. “How would your _Thor_ react to something like that?”

Loki frowned and rubbed the bitemark on the all-too-real simulation of Thor’s arm. “Not well,” Loki guessed. “There’d be a lot of yelling, probably.”

“Yelling? That’s all he’d do?”

“I’m assuming he’d be restrained?” Loki surmised. 

The Grandmaster looked offended. “Are you ‘restrained’ right now? No. No, that’s not what I’m looking for. Ew-- what kind of monster—I mean, time and place! Time and place for everything, of course I am a fan of adequate restraints when required but this?? No. I want to know what your brother would be like in this scenario, if, if he were truly…accepting.”

Loki was feeling more than a little bit frustrated with the Grandmaster’s nonsense. “He wouldn’t be ‘accepting’,” Loki exclaimed. “And if you made him so, he wouldn’t be as much fun then, would he?” 

The Grandmaster’s face lit up, as if he’d found whatever he’d been looking for. “Mmm-hmm,” he purred. “I like how you think. Let’s change it up.” He snapped his fingers again, and suddenly what had been the chair was replaced by a golden bed. It was large enough for at least four people, and the golden ladies daintily took a seat upon it. 

“Show me what else your brother can bring to the table,” the Grandmaster instructed, reclining. “And when I say I table--” he stroked the cushioned space beside him. “--I do mean bedroom.”

Loki thought back to that distant and naïve time in his life about ten minutes ago when he’d thought he was ready for anything. ‘Anything’ included quite a few deviant behaviors but most certainly did not include _this_. 

“Come on,” urged the Grandmaster, in a voice that was probably supposed to be seductive. He propped himself up on one elbow. “Treat me like a beautiful lady. People from Asgard aren’t anti-sexual, are they?”

Loki made a face. “Certainly not,” he informed the Grandmaster. “It’s just, Thor… he’s not the best with the beautiful ladies, he’d rather…”

“Oh-ho, is that how it is—” the Grandmaster looked twice as intrigued as before. “Well that’s even better!”

“No, it’s not—I’m not explaining this very well,” Loki said awkwardly. “Thor would prefer the ladies, just not...” 

“Not me?” The Grandmaster feigned surprise, fluttering his lashes. “Well that’s hardly a problem.” He waved a hand at the golden ladies, who promptly stalked over to Loki. “These two are available,” the Grandmaster said lightly. The golden ladies each took one of Loki’s hands, and began to pull him towards the Grandmaster. “Even if I don’t get in on the action myself, I can get by with watching a good show. Ladies, get naked. Remove his clothes.” 

At the foot of the bed, Loki froze. The ladies were trying their best to peel off Thor’s gladiator costume but of course it was all an illusion, and wouldn’t come off unless Loki willed it away. 

Loki was thinking, frantically, of some other way to accomplish what was being asked of him—or avoid it entirely. He couldn’t very well attack and murder the Grandmaster at this very moment—could he? Was there a trick to escaping the infamous back room with its endless doors? The challenge appealed, but at the same time, Loki was certain there would be an unforeseen failsafe in place. Perhaps without the Grandmaster alive, the entire place would collapse or freeze in time forever. There was no way to know. 

The Grandmaster seemed wounded by Loki’s reluctance. “Come on, Loki…where’s your sense of _mischief?_ ” Loki looked up, a creature called by its true name, and the Grandmaster caught and held his gaze. Loki knew he was trapped. The Grandmaster had him in the crosshairs of an extremely ancient, perceptive power, and was seeing right through him. 

“Ooo-ooh, I see it now,” the Grandmaster purred, with the zeal of a schoolchild eager to tattle on a peer. “—so that’s how it is. I get it, I do. That does add a lovely layer! You and your God of Thunder. What a pair. Is it True Love? I bet I could charge a fortune for folks to watch the two of you get it on. I’m imagining an overflowing of emotion. We’re talking Love. Hate! And a healthy measure of good-old wish fulfillment, am I right?”

Loki transformed back into himself, and the golden ladies stopped their pawing. “This wasn’t about research on Thor at all,” Loki realized. “You’re researching _me_.”

The Grandmaster gave Loki a little golf-clap of applause. “Once again, you have figured me out! You’re just too good, too smart! I love it. Isn’t it wonderful, when two intelligent people like us can truly,” he gave a blissful sigh, “understand one another?”

There was now a tension in the room that Loki couldn’t deny. The Grandmaster had gotten under his skin, seen into the depths of his heart. How? How was he so capable, so dangerously sharp? It was more than lunacy, but how much more? 

The Grandmaster was maddening—and fascinating. Loki wanted to tear him to bits. 

Instead, he sat down, carefully, on the edge of the Grandmaster’s bed. 

“What do you want from me?” Loki asked, voice soft. 

“Hmm, now it gets interesting,” the Grandmaster giggled. “What’ve you got?”

Loki bit the inside of his cheek, imagined knives and lightning. “Anything you want,” he said.

The Grandmaster let that offer settle fully in the space between them, and then sat up, chuckling. “You. Are. An absolute treasure, do you know that? _Mwah_.” He swooped in and kissed the side of Loki’s face, much the way an excited grandmother would kiss a toddler. “Where have you been all my life? What we could do together! Anyway I _do_ want a couple of things, of course. First: don’t you dare stop trying to overthrow me or replace me or nudge me off a balcony into a reactor core— _please_ keep going with all those plans; it is far too boring around here when no one is actively plotting against me.”

Loki blink-blinked, as the unspeakable tension that had been walling them in moments ago drained swiftly away. 

“Second: I’m putting you in charge of all things related to your alluring brother,” the Grandmaster informed him, his tone almost businesslike now. “Manage him for me. It’s up to you to figure out how that scruffy thunder-puppy will earn his keep—make him bring in at least four million a week until the next fight, and when he wins that one, the target will be six million a week. Meet the weekly targets and I won’t question your methods.”

Loki nodded, wide-eyed, mentally cataloging a thousand questions for analysis later. 

“And third: don’t stop being you! I like what you’re doing to me and how you’re doing it. You are winning me over—but, word of warning here. If you want this delicious little thing between us to go all the way, for real, we do that on two conditions: one, that you initiate it, by inviting me to meet you back here, and two, that you wildly exaggerate absolutely every detail of our encounter when you write your tell-all book in the aftermath. Deal?” 

“Wildly exaggerate,” Loki repeated, stunned. “I can do that.” 

“Good.” The Grandmaster stood up, stretched. “My, I feel radiant. Ladies? Clothes on?”

The ladies had indeed resumed wearing whatever little scraps of clothing they’d previously removed. Loki was still sitting on the bed, mouth agape, and the Grandmaster reached over and ruffled his hair. 

“You might consider a haircut yourself,” he said fondly, as Loki looked up at him, hair a comically tousled mess. “But I’m sure what you could really use right now is a little explanation. It’s good you’re sitting down for this one. Here it is. You ever find a book, that you think might be worth reading, but there are so many pages, so many chapters, and you just want to know, will it really be worth your time? Books aren’t extinct, where you come from, are they?”

“I know what books are,” Loki said, plainly having no idea where the Grandmaster was going with this. 

“Ok. So you think you might want to read a book—but it’s such a risk, to start at the beginning and trudge along. What if it’s a waste of your time? So what can you do—you might, if you were me, you might just peek ahead, open the book to the end, and see if anything in there catches your eye. But then! Oh, you’ve done it now, because if you see something you like, then when you go back and start at the beginning, your whole experience of that book will be tainted by what you saw when you looked ahead. Stay with me now, this will make sense in a minute.”

The Grandmaster took a breath, eyes shining in genuine fondness for the bewildered young demigod that was looking at him now, soaking up and weighing his every word. “So here’s me: I find what might be an interesting character, such as yourself. Should I pursue you? Who are you, what is your deal? Are you worth my time? I want to cut to the chase, peek ahead. So I bring you here, and I find out who you really are. What you really care about. Once I know what makes you tick, oh, I can motivate you. I can master you. That’s what’s going on in this special place. I am cheating, and looking ahead to find out whether or not you’d be a good book. And Loki? Thanks to our little interface here today, I can say without a doubt that when it comes to you, I am going to savor. Every. Sentence.”

Loki felt more than a little violated by this pronouncement, and opened his mouth to ask a question, but the Grandmaster made a little shushing motion. 

“No, don’t say anything yet. Because here’s the best part. If you were boring, predictable, mediocre--maybe we’d bang, get a little weird together, and then go our separate ways. But because I know now how interesting you actually are, when we leave here, I’m not going to remember any of this. That’s right—I’m wiping my own memory of this whole encounter—leaving only enough evidence that it happened so that I will know that I have met you here, done my little peek-ahead, and have decided that you’re worth my interest. Now, I see that look on your face, and don’t worry— _your_ memory won’t be affected. You can keep full knowledge of what happened here today, as my little gift to you.”

“…What about your…escorts?” Loki looked back and forth between the golden ladies, who seemed to have already forgotten than Loki existed. 

“Oh, they’re with me. Won’t remember a thing. It’s in their contract.” 

“…Doesn’t that give me a considerable advantage, if I’m to continue plotting against you?” Loki asked plainly. 

The Grandmaster laughed. “Loki my dear, you’re going to need all the help you can get! But that reminds me—you’re also going to need this:” he pulled out a sort of digital tablet from somewhere, and doodled on it with one finger. After a moment he handed the tablet to Loki, and the doodles resolved themselves into words that Loki could read. 

“I, Grandmaster of Sakaar,” Loki read aloud from the tablet. “Do hereby grant exclusive managerial rights over the property known as ‘Thor’ to his brother Loki…” he trailed off, looking back up at the Grandmaster in suspicion. 

“Just show that to me when we get back to real life,” the Grandmaster explained. “I’ll know what it means. Are you ready? I’m ready. Let’s go.”

The grandmaster waved a hand—

\--and Loki found himself back at the party, where he’d started. The Grandmaster was there, glowing blue drink in his hand. As Loki stared at him, dumbfounded, the Grandmaster sashayed over to him. 

“Loki, Loki, Loki,” the Grandmaster purred. “We meet again. And I’m so glad I ran into you, because there’s something I’d like to…show…you.” 

Wordlessly Loki held up the tablet, which the Grandmaster accepted and perused with a look of pleasant surprise. “Nevermind, it seems I’ve already shown it to you after all!” the Grandmaster grinned, raised the glass and took a sip. 

“Ah, ick, coconut,” the Grandmaster said, giving Loki a wink. “Blehgk!” 

Loki recoiled. He couldn’t get out of there fast enough. 

He was practically running by the time he reached his little room, his hideout full of his own carefully organized secrets. Angrily he tore off his clothes, left them in heaps on the floor. At the end of the room he walked through one of the mirrors into a sterile, metallic space, and jammed a control on the wall. A shower hissed to life, water spraying down from a pipe in the ceiling. 

Loki turned the temperature as cold as it would go, stood there, thinking furiously until he wished he could turn off his own brain. The Grandmaster played dirty, and Loki felt contaminated. Eventually he began scrubbing at his skin as if he could wash the Grandmaster’s weird magic off of him, and noticed a bruise on his trim little arm where the Grandmaster had bitten him. He studied the bruise in horror—was it more than it appeared? Had he been marked, in some way, for some purpose? At last he was satisfied that it was only superficial. 

The icy water ran over Loki’s head, causing his hair to stick to his face and neck in flat, inky curves. And now the memory of how that mark had gotten onto his arm filled Loki with an unprecedented rage. Loki would have revenge, would bring the Grandmaster low in an avalanche of his own particular chaos. 

Loki remembered abruptly that he’d been granted management of a valuable resource. Four million a week? Loki could swindle that from the casino with his eyes closed. No, Thor was worth far more than four million a week. 

At last Loki smiled, a plan taking shape in his mind. He would turn this entire planet inside out, to spite the one who had dared to read him.


	10. Hulk want more Thor

As Loki was seething in a freezing shower, Thor was hauling himself out of the Hulk’s hot tub, pink from the heat. (Hulk, meanwhile, looked a little closer to the shade of steamed broccoli.) 

With a contented sigh, Thor sat on the edge of the tub, letting the steam rise from his skin. He might have stayed in for a longer soak, but the Hulk had gotten a little too enthusiastic about the back rub, demanding more and more pressure until Thor finally swore that he was doing it as hard as he could. He was certain that the Hulk had enjoyed the attention, by all indications—and Thor knew he was pretty good at back rubs in general, which is why it bothered him that Hulk now seemed to be acting weird about it. 

“You good?” Thor asked his green friend, as the Hulk trudged out of the tub without looking at him. 

With an angry-embarrassed grunt, the Hulk scrambled off to the privacy of his closet, where he thrashed around for a few moments, sounding like he was moving furniture or possibly dismantling a truck. 

“While you’re in there, do you have anything I might be able to wear?” Thor called, remembering that he’d seen a variety of outfits stored in the Hulk’s closet. The God of Thunder was not eager to climb back into his sweaty gladiator costume now that he was nice and clean. 

A few moments later, Hulk stuck his arm out of the closet and launched a bundle of black fabric at Thor, which turned out to be the Sakaarian sweatpants he’d noticed earlier—basically a pair of gigantic shorts. They were made of a thick, soft material, remarkably stretchy—on the Hulk they’d stretch to skin-tight, but for Thor they might be just the right size to stay loosely on his waist without needing a belt. 

“These look comfortable,” Thor remarked good-naturedly. “And smell clean,” he added, after a careful sniff. Standing, he pulled the shorts up around his hips—they would have been above-the-knee on Hulk, but fell to mid-calf length on Thor. “Good enough,” Thor deemed, and called in the direction of the closet: “Thanks for these.”

Hulk grunted again in response, sounding even angrier. 

“…Are you okay?” Thor asked, concerned. “Do you need… help with anything?”

“No! Hulk Fine!” Hulk yelled from inside the closet, sounding like he was not-fine. 

Thor made a skeptical face, hoping that whatever Hulk’s problem was, it was no concern of his. He made his way to the kitchen faucet and helped himself to a mug of water, and finally the Hulk reappeared, looking half-guilty, and half…bashful?

And that’s when the clinginess started. 

Hulk was unwilling to leave Thor’s side, even for an instant. What was worse, he kept trying to…touch him. Not in an especially alarming way or anything, but he kept trying to rest a hand on him, almost as if hoping that Thor wouldn’t notice. As if it were easy to miss a one-hundred-pound hand suddenly descending onto your shoulder or lightly brushing your back.

Afternoon turned to evening and the two stranded Avengers ate another meal together, this time consisting of vegetables. The first few times that Hulk affectionately placed a hand on him, Thor gave him a puzzled look but didn’t comment—friendly-petting Hulk was better than furiously-rampaging Hulk, after all. 

Later, as they sat on the floor watching that night’s gladiator matches on the Sakaarian TV, Hulk dropped his hand onto Thor’s leg, doing the world’s least-convincing job of pretending it was an accident. 

“All right,” Thor declared, looking down at Hulk’s huge hand, which was covering Thor’s leg from mid-shin to mid-thigh. “What’s going on?”

“Sorry,” Hulk grumbled, not meeting Thor’s eye. Instead of removing his hand, he gave Thor’s knee a tentative squeeze. 

Thor twitched. “Let go of my leg,” he ordered, cross. 

“Sorry!” Hulk repeated, louder and distressed—but still didn’t move his hand. 

“You can’t just say ‘sorry’ and then keep doing the thing,” Thor criticized. He pried the Hulk’s hand off his leg and scooted away a few inches—only to have the Hulk immediately close the distance, sliding over to be sitting exactly next to him, the sides of their hips almost touching. 

The Hulk caught a glimpse of Thor’s getting-fed-up expression and swiftly hid his big green face in his hands, the picture of despair. 

“Come on, what’s wrong?” Thor demanded. “You can tell me.”

“Hulk want…more Thor,” Hulk said, still hiding his face. 

“More Thor,” Thor repeated, mystified. “There is no ‘more Thor’.” He swept his hands down, indicating himself from shoulders to feet. “This is all of me.” 

Hulk scowled, feeling mocked, and decided that what he wanted to say was very important—he had to make Thor understand. But how? The words for these new emotions were complex and elusive. But he had to try—hopefully Thor would listen, and not make fun. 

“Thor make Hulk feel good,” Hulk began, hunching and rolling his shoulders in a clear reference to the massage. 

“You’re welcome,” nodded Thor, following so far. “I was happy to help.” 

“Now Hulk want… make Thor feel good.” Hulk looked at his friend hopefully, seeming a little surprised at himself for how clearly he’d gotten that point across after all. 

Thor’s eyebrows climbed. It made sense now, the awkward touching—Hulk wanted to return the favor of the backrub, but had no idea how to go about it, or if Thor would even permit him to try. “Oh, that’s fair, I suppose,” Thor said. “I guess you could try that, if you’re careful.”

“Ok,” Hulk agreed, eager to give it a go. He scrambled around and hunched down behind his friend, resting both enormous hands on Thor’s shoulders. 

“I’m serious,” Thor warned. “Go gently—do not break any of my bones.” 

It happened in an instant. Hulk pulled Thor’s shoulders back with his fingers while simultaneously pushing in and up with his thumbs on either side of Thor’s spine—there was a series of loud cracks, Thor yelled, and Hulk dropped him as if stung. 

“Oh no,” Hulk gulped, horrified. “Friend broke!” 

“No—I’m okay,” Thor panted, one hand reaching around to his back. “You cracked my back, that’s all. You didn’t break anything—the bones are fine. Actually felt kind of good—just—it was too sudden,” Thor explained. 

“Hulk try again?” Hulk offered, wide-eyed and sincere. 

“No way,” Thor huffed. “I mean, no thank you,” he corrected, seeing Hulk’s crestfallen expression. “That was really all I needed.” He reached out and patted Hulk on the arm. “Good job.” 

Hulk looked wonderingly at his arm where Thor had patted him, and beamed. He couldn’t explain it, but Hulk was now craving a sort of constant reassurance of Thor’s place in his life. Hulk wanted, _needed_ , to be sure that his prize, his friend, his more-than-friend Thor, was… was what? Was there for him? Was _his_? 

Something like that. The thought of doing anything without Thor, of giving Thor up for even an instant, now cast an angry cloud over the Hulk’s mood. 

“Oh look,” Thor said brightly, referring to something on the screen. “Korg won his match—that’s good.” 

“Who ‘Korg’?” asked Hulk, stiffening. 

“He’s that rock guy, see?” Thor pointed to him on the screen. “He’s a friend.” 

Hulk bunched his hands into fists, glaring at the image of the victorious Kronan. “No,” Hulk said under his breath. “Hulk kill him.”

Thor took offense. “What? Why would you want to kill him? He’s a good guy.”

“Rock guy not your friend,” Hulk growled. “Hulk your friend!” 

Thor folded his arms across his chest. “I can have more than one friend, you know,” he admonished, raising his voice. 

“NO!” Hulk roared and smashed his fists onto floor, causing a little earthquake to shake the room. Before the liquor bottles had ceased rattling on the shelves, Hulk had recovered, and looked fully remorseful for his outburst. 

Thor sighed. “Maybe you’re just tired,” he supposed aloud. “The fights look like they’re over for tonight, and I doubt you want to watch those awful commentators. You want to get some sleep?”

Hulk thought about it, and was midway through shaking his head ‘no’ when he was overcome by a powerful yawn, and changed his head-shake to a begrudging nod. 

“All right, let’s go to sleep. Do you have an extra blanket for me? I’ll just sleep over here.” Thor nodded at an open space on the floor, which Hulk then stared at for an uncomfortably long moment. He then narrowed his eyes and looked at Thor in suspicion, as if Thor might be trying to trick him somehow. 

“Thor sleep on bed,” Hulk decided. 

“That’s generous of you to offer, but what about you?” Thor asked, blinking. “Where will Hulk sleep?”

“On bed.” 

Thor scrunched his whiskers up into an I-don’t-know-about-that expression, and looked sideways at the bed. The animal-skull structure surrounding the mattress seemed foreboding as well as gaudy, the fangs of the open jaws looking more than a little bit treacherous. But, one thing was obvious: the bed was definitely big enough for the both of them. 

And Thor wasn’t especially keen on arguing with a sleepy/grouchy Hulk. 

So…

A short while later, Thor was snuggling his way between the covers of the Hulk’s wonderfully comfortable bed, stubbornly trying to shake the feeling that he was overlooking something important, ignoring some dangerous sign. Without question, the Hulk’s ‘friendship’ had taken a turn in a bit of a disturbing, maybe even _possessive_ direction, but then again, the Hulk had been stranded on this strange planet for two years, murdering people left and right for the Sakaarian’s entertainment… was it any surprise that the Hulk’s emotional state wasn’t exactly in the zone for healthy relationships?

Anyway, this was fine: the bed was huge, the Hulk was visibly tired, and Thor was sure they’d both be pleasantly asleep in no time. He pulled the luxurious duvet snugly up over his shoulder and nestled the side of his face into one of the oversized pillows—which smelled faintly of Hulk, but, not grossly so. 

Behind him, the Hulk’s weight settled onto the mattress, followed by a deep exhale of breath from mammoth lungs as the Beloved Champion curled onto his side. 

There was a quiet moment where they both lay still, and Thor let his eyes fall closed—and then of course Hulk rolled towards him, and wrapped an arm around his waist. 

“Gaah,” Thor protested, squirming. “Can’t you sleep on that side, over there?” 

In response, Hulk grunted and hugged Thor to his chest. 

“No, no. No. Let go.” Thor shoved the Hulk back and sat up, clutching the blankets. 

Hulk looked absolutely devastated, not comprehending what he’d done wrong to prompt this rejection. 

Thor sighed. “Listen, Hulk, I don’t know exactly what this, um, _infatuation_ with me is all about, but, have you ever shared this bed with anybody before? Maybe an admirer of yours, or, I don’t know, anyone?” 

Hulk shook his head against the pillows. “Nobody,” he grumbled. 

Thor seemed dissatisfied with that answer, and pressed him further. “Have you ever slept with anyone, while you were…like this? Big and green?”

Hulk stuck his lip out, trying to remember. A lot of his memories were fuzzy—and when he tried to remember if he’d ever slept with someone, his brain got all stormy and painful. 

“No,” Hulk answered simply, mostly so he could stop the dark trapped feelings from rising any further into his consciousness. 

That seemed a sufficient answer for Thor. “Well, then, you haven’t had any practice uh, sharing your space, and I’m sure you understand, I don’t want you rolling on top of me and suffocating me in my sleep, right?” 

Hulk mulled that over and nodded. 

“Good. So you stay on that side, and I’ll stay on this side, and we’ll just get some rest,” Thor proposed. He bundled himself into the blankets and lay back down, this time on his other side, facing the Hulk. 

Hulk shifted to mirror him and then hesitantly reached out his hand, very gently petting the outside of the blankets, roughly in the vicinity of Thor’s arm. “This ok?” Hulk asked in a quiet voice. 

“Yes, fine,” Thor muttered. “Goodnight.”

Hulk continued to lightly stroke the disgruntled lump of blankets that contained his reluctant bedfellow. “ _Mmh_ ,” Hulk hummed, faintly. He sounded distraught, almost in pain. Thor tried to ignore him. “Mnnh. _Mmmnh_.”

“What is it?” Thor demanded. “Why are you making that noise?”

“Can’t sleep,” Hulk answered. “Hulk… too hard.” 

Thor turned his face into the pillow for a minute, hiding his best ‘why me?’ expression, wishing he could un-hear that last statement. He had a very bad feeling that he knew exactly what the Hulk meant...


	11. Not a good match

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Picks up right where Chapt 10 left off:

“Do you need to… take care of that?” Thor asked awkwardly, as Hulk continued to make little uncomfortable noises. 

“…How?” Hulk wondered, plainly hoping that Thor would offer some brilliant solution. 

“I don’t know, however you usually do it,” Thor suggested, slightly annoyed. 

If Hulk was terribly disappointed by that advice, he didn’t let on—he simply rolled onto his stomach. At first nothing happened, and Thor began to hope that his great green bedmate had forgotten his problem willed himself to sleep—then the bed heaved, jostling Thor up and down as Hulk bucked his pelvis against the mattress. 

“Stop, stop that!” Thor scolded, and Hulk obeyed. “You can’t go humping the bed while I’m lying right next to you.”

“Why not?” Hulk wanted to know. 

“Because, it’s weird. Let me go sleep on the other side of the room, then you can do what you want with the bed.” Thor started to untangle himself from the blankets, but a monstrous hand came down like a bar across him, pinning him in place. 

“No,” Hulk told him. “Friend stay.” 

“I’m not _leaving_ , just getting out of the bed,” protested Thor. “You’ll be able to see me the whole time—I’ll be right over there!” 

“Thor stay,” Hulk said firmly. “Sleep with Hulk.” 

“Why?” Thor challenged. 

“Because…” Hulk racked his brain. “Hulk want it.”

“You don’t know what you want,” Thor countered, but ceased his attempts to wriggle free. “Do you? Do you even know what you’re saying, when you say you want me to sleep with you?” 

“…Hulk knows,” Hulk said guiltily. 

“Hulk, let’s talk about this. You’ve been the Hulk for how long? Two years here on Sakaar, but for how much time, total, in your entire life? Before this, you were only the Hulk for short bursts, right? Several hours here or there, several days at a time, at the most? I bet Hulk has only been Hulk for three or four years total, maybe less.”

“…Maybe,” acknowledged Hulk, cautiously defensive.

“Three or four years is not a very long time,” Thor continued, relieved that Hulk seemed to be listening to him. “Now, I know you’re an adult, and you can make your own decisions, but, my point is, you haven’t been Hulk for long enough to know what Hulk really wants. Someday, you will meet someone who is really special, someone you really care about—”

“Thor really special,” Hulk interjected. 

“No, I’m not talking about me—you’ll meet someone else.”

For a split second, the ghost of a memory crossed the Hulk’s mind—someone else, someone special—had there been someone like that in his life, once? Hulk shook the uncomfortable half-memory away and focused on the present. 

“Hulk want Thor.” 

“My point is,” Thor resumed, undeterred, “Someday, you’ll meet someone who feels the same way about you as you feel about them, and then—if you’re ready, then maybe you can sleep with that special person. If they want to—but when it’s the right person, they will want to, someday. That’s my point.” 

There was a moment of silence. “…Hulk ready now.” 

“Hm,” Thor exhaled. “No you’re not.” 

“Grrr…” Hulk dragged Thor a little closer, blankets and all. “How Thor know?”

Thor chuckled, not the least bit intimidated by the Hulk looming over him in the bed. “Because I’ve had several centuries of experience, and have only met a very few of those special people that I’m talking about.” 

Hulk processed that. “Very few people want sleep with Thor,” he interpreted. “That sad. Many, many people want Hulk.” 

“That’s not--,” Thor huffed, and then decided to let it go. “What I meant was, a one-sided attraction isn’t… isn’t a real relationship. And it’s not right. And, even if you’re both attracted to one another, sometimes it’s still not right to sleep together. So you wait, and sometimes you find out that the person who was so special to you is, well…”

“…Bad?” Hulk guessed. 

“No not _bad_ ,” Thor frowned. “Just…”

“Your brother,” Hulk deadpanned. 

“No! I wasn’t talking about my brother, I’m talking about Jane, Jane from Earth. She’ll always be very special to me, but…”

“Jane not want Thor.”

If Thor’s arms hadn’t been trapped underneath several layers of bedding and held in place by the Hulk, he probably would have dragged his palms down his face in frustration. “No. I mean yes, yes she was attracted to me, and I to her, but, that’s not enough—we only spent a short amount of time together, and so, even though we both wanted each other, we never slept together, and that’s ok. What I’m saying is: you don’t have to sleep with everyone that you’re attracted to. Even if you really want to, sometimes it’s not right.” 

Hulk was quiet for a minute, and then squeezed the blanketed bundle of his friend in what Thor assumed was either a hug of sympathy or gratitude, or perhaps both.

“Was Jane… scared of Thor?” Hulk asked solemnly. 

Thor was taken aback. “No, I don’t think so—No. I hope not.” 

Another moment passed in silence, Hulk relentlessly hugging Thor to his side.

“…Is Thor scared of Hulk?” 

Thor shook his head, which was really the only part of his body he could freely move at the moment. “Hulk, I’m not frightened of you. But I’m also not going to sleep with you. We’re not a good match.”

“But… Thor not die, in fight,” Hulk remembered, sounding hopeful. 

“Yes well, that’s different. We may be evenly matched for fighting, but not for anything else. Need I remind you, we have seen each other naked, um, rather a lot more than I’d have preferred, and, that should be enough to make it obvious to anyone that you, cannot, possibly…” 

Hulk looked at him, hungrily. “Hulk could do _this_ ,” Hulk suggested, and humped himself aggressively against Thor’s side—mercifully not tearing through the layer of blankets between them, though that didn’t spare Thor from getting a good feel of exactly what he was up against. 

“Augh, ugh—Hulk, stop, do not do that,” Thor complained, trying his best to scooch out of range. 

“Awww… why not??” Hulk demanded, frustrated. “Hulk not hurt Thor. Promise.” 

“Weren’t you listening to anything I said?” Thor had tried his best to reason with the Hulk, talk him out of his difficult state—but it hadn’t done any good, and now Thor was frustrated too. “You. Are too big. Got it? It’s not happening. I’m not into it. Now leave me alone, and go to sleep!” 

“Hulk not too big, Thor too small!” Hulk yelled, furious. 

“ _I_ am perfect by every measurement,” Thor yelled back. “ _You_ are an overgrown toad!”

“RAUWWRGH,” exclaimed the Hulk, ferociously thumping his hips against Thor, pounding him into the mattress.

“This is uncivilized, indecent--” protested Thor, struggling to throw Hulk off of him. “This is Very Bad! Hulk I told you No!” 

With that, Thor managed to get out of the way, but only to sit up and point a finger accusingly in the Hulk’s face. 

“You can’t hump people if they tell you ‘no’,” Thor declared. “That’s important. If you do that, you’re evil. You got it?” 

Something deep in the Hulk’s eyes told Thor that yes, Hulk understood. He froze for a moment, recognizing the severity of what he’d done or at least sort of tried to do, and then buried his big green face in a pillow, silent and motionless on the bed. 

“Hlllff uhhlggh,” Hulk mumbled after a moment. 

“What?” Thor leaned closer. Hulk lifted his face out of the pillow. 

“Hulk ugly,” Hulk repeated, sullen. 

Thor brought his hands to his head, glad that his hair was short—if it hadn’t been cut off, he might be tearing it out right about now. 

“You’re not ugly,” Thor attempted to console him.

“Thor perfect, Hulk ugly...toad,” Hulk insisted, sniffling. 

“I shouldn't have said that--I didn't mean it." Thor shook his head. "Your behavior just now was ugly, but you… you’re not evil, and you’re not ugly. _‘Many, many people want Hulk,’_ right? You said so yourself.”

“But Thor not want Hulk,” Hulk sniffed.

“That's right,” Thor confirmed, relieved that Hulk finally seemed to understand. “Sorry. It’s not that you’re unattractive; you’re very attractive in your own, large, green way... But like I said, you’re just too big. I honestly can't even imagine the, um," he made a face as he did, in fact, imagine it.

“So…” Hulk was thinking, the cogs turning ever-so-wearily in his mind. “If Hulk…got smaller?”

This was an unexpected idea, and Thor reacted with surprise. “…Are you offering to turn back into Banner?” he wondered, and frowned, considering it. Bruce Banner, unlike Hulk, might be willing to help Thor escape. “That might actually—” 

“No Banner!” insisted the Hulk. 

“But… if you did, would Banner want to sleep with me too, or is it just Hulk?”

“Just Hulk!” Hulk grunted, hating the idea of Banner more than ever. 

“Could you go… halfway to Banner, maybe? Half-Hulk, half-Banner? Can you do that?” Thor asked, genuinely curious. “Not guaranteeing that I’d sleep with you, in any case,” he added hurriedly, in case Hulk was getting the wrong idea. 

Hulk concentrated for a moment, then shook his head. “Hulk can’t,” he declared. 

“Ok, well,” Thor nodded, and lay back down, sighing. “Sorry, again.” 

They each gathered the blankets around themselves, temporarily lost in their own thoughts. 

“Maybe Thor want Hulk tomorrow,” Hulk hoped aloud. 

“That’s…unlikely,” Thor remarked, as gently as possible.

“Thor go sleep?” Hulk asked, after a while. 

“Yep,” Thor replied. “You better not try to hump me or anything, once I’m out.”

“Hulk won’t,” Hulk said, and Thor could tell he meant it. 

“Thanks buddy.” Thor felt himself relaxing, satisfied that the crisis was over. All things considered, this whole…incident…could have gone a lot worse, in a lot of different ways. He was grateful that the Hulk had calmed down and been willing to back off. Hulk had a good heart, Thor was certain. 

Without overthinking it, Thor reached out across the blankets and tucked his hand into the Hulk’s big green palm. Reflexively, Hulk closed his fingers around Thor’s hand, his eyes blinking heavily. The last thing Hulk saw, before sinking into dark-clouded dreams, was a contented smile on Thor’s face. 

Thor was the best, Hulk thought in awe, somewhere in the back of his mind--but Thor was also wrong: there wasn’t 'someone else' for Hulk, there wasn’t some special ‘right’ person who would be a good match. 

There was only Thor.


	12. A horse of a different color

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because is it even a Ragnarok fanfic if there's not a cameo by Butterscotch Candlesticks? There, you've been warned. *grin*  
> Also the scene that was supposed to be in this chapter is now in the next chapter argh sorry had to cut this chapt short but Please hang in there!! *tHanKyoU*

They fell asleep, an arms-length apart, facing one another, the Hulk’s fingers wrapped loosely around Thor’s hand. 

But that configuration didn’t last for long. 

Sometime in the night, Thor became vaguely aware that he was being dragged across the bed, slowly, until he was wedged against the curve of the Hulk’s chest. Rather than sprawling his massive limbs across the mattress, it appeared the Hulk tended to sleep curled up into a ball, and was drawing Thor in, until the God of Thunder was totally secure under the Hulk’s heavy arm, tucked there for all the world like a favorite toy. 

Thor adjusted to this new arrangement without complaint, making the best of it. The weight of the Hulk’s arm wasn’t too much for him—Thor could still breathe just fine, and he wasn’t exactly uncomfortable. Actually, being pulled against the Hulk like this was, if he was being honest, kind of nice. The Hulk’s infamously thick skin was radiating heat in the best way, the way a boulder which had been in the sun all day radiated heat in the hour after sunset. Except unlike most boulders, the Hulk was breathing—and Thor liked the feeling of that very much. 

Eventually Thor made the inevitable discovery of just how ridiculously great it could feel to be the much-littler spoon. He was pretty sure he’d been cuddled and snuggled in every possible configuration by the people who’d taken him to bed in his life, and, to no one’s surprise he’d even woken up a few times with Loki draped across his back, (yes of course that happened, and apparently all the Nine Realms knew, but mostly nobody cared) but to use a particularly apt phrase, the Hulk was a horse of a different color. Nobody else that Thor had ever slept beside was anything remotely like the Hulk. 

Hulk was just so. Big. 

Thor’s entire back, shoulders and all, as broad as all that area was, could fit completely snug against the Hulk’s chest with plenty of green space to spare. Thor could press himself against the Hulk’s formidable pectorals like leaning into a great warm rounded wall that was molded _just so_ —and there was so much mass, to the Hulk, lying beside him was like taking shelter in some sort of bomb-proof den, some rare cocoon of refuge. 

Thor was pretty confident in his ability to take care of himself, but he also knew the value of feeling protected. Here on Sakaar, between the bit of alien technology in his neck able to render him helpless and the Grandmaster’s threat of inescapable torture, Thor was certainly not averse to taking advantage of whatever protection he could find. Having several tons of Hulk covering him, he felt—at least for the moment—safe. 

So he went with it, accepting the shelter that the Hulk was unwittingly providing. He caught the Hulk’s rhythm of breath and rode it, enjoying the rise and fall of the Hulk’s chest against his back, letting that reassurance of strength override all other thoughts. 

***

Meanwhile:

Loki was in the middle of a delicate procedure. He was trying something risky, a sort of communication that he had no idea if he could really accomplish. It was such a long-distance call…

But it worked. And a projection of Loki materialized, slightly more translucent than usual, at 177A Bleecker Street. 

The plebeian ‘sorcerer’ who lived there didn’t appear to be home, so Loki helped himself to a hefty book, kicked his boots up on the sorcerer’s desk, and settled in to wait for him. 

He didn’t have to wait very long. 

“Loki,” Dr. Stephen Strange acknowledged, entering the library and barely even bristling at the sight of the intruder. 

The doctor’s familiar and pretentious tone immediately got under Loki’s skin. Two syllables—this presumptuous upstart had rattled Loki to the core with just two syllables. 

“Hmm, so…you’ve got a kind of a dangerous expression on your face,” the doctor noted, ever-so-cordial. “Of course, you’re not really here, so I’m not too worried, but, I can’t figure out if you want to tear off all my skin or,” he did the universal eye-rake thing, looking Loki up and down. 

Loki rolled his eyes to the ceiling in an unheard appeal for the universe to give him a break. “Oh, come on,” he huffed, exasperated.

“Well,” said Dr. Strange, with a little half-shrug.

“Go on, say it,” Loki challenged. 

“Or, tear off all my clothes,” Dr. Strange obliged, finishing his thought. 

Loki shook his head, biting the inside of his cheek. “Do I really give off that impression?”

Dr. Strange raised his eyebrows and bobbed his head. “Um, yah. You do. You seem, like you are almost constantly in need of a good—”

“I know very well what I need,” Loki snapped. “And it isn’t sass from the likes of you.” 

“So gay,” Stephen muttered, in evidence of his deep connection to the consensus of the multiverse. 

Loki narrowed his eyes. Maybe it was just the distortion caused by the extreme distance he was crossing, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was looking at something…out of place. “What _are_ you?” Loki seethed in pure contempt. “Why am I compelled to hate every fiber of you?” 

“Hmmm,” Dr. Strange mused, a little self-assured rumble in his throat. “Does chaos actually _hate_ order?” 

“Shut up.” Loki was seriously starting to contemplate doing the skin thing. “Order,” he scoffed, casting a hand around the library. “You are an infant, tracing lines.”

“Ok,” Stephen shrugged, too-cool. “So, why are you here?” 

Loki grit his teeth, having made the classic blunder of insulting the person he needed to ask for help. 

“…I have something to…trade,” Loki admitted, voice low. 

“Oh?” the would-be sorcerer was plainly intrigued. “…What is it?”

“Mjolnir,” Loki said, with the slightest tinge of guilt. “Well, what’s left of it. I gather you’re the sort of person who might be interested in that type of…relic.”

“The Shards of Mjolnir, whoa—” Dr. Strange blinked, frowned. “That’s um… that’s a big deal. You’re aware how many untried spells something like that would affect?” 

“Fully,” Loki confirmed, dipping his head as if the admission hurt his pride. 

“What are you asking in return?” Dr. Strange wondered, his eyes searching Loki’s face.

“I heard what you did to Dormammu,” Loki began. “You trapped him in a time loop. I want to know how it was done.”

Dr. Strange was still staring at him. “What for?”

“My brother and I are trapped on a planet, several million light years away--”

“Ah, that explains the dust on the lens,” Strange muttered. 

“I beg your pardon?”

“The, uh, the illusion you’re crafting here, it’s not all the way opaque. Dust on the lens—because of the distance--nevermind. Go on.” 

“…We’re trapped in a place controlled by an ancient power that can manipulate time. I know he’s creating time loops and, if I get snared in one, I need to know how to slip out of it.”

“Riiight,” Strange said, not buying it. “Or you just want to make some time loops of your own.” 

Loki didn’t bother to deny it. “That would be a useful skill, yes,” he admitted. “Do we have a deal?”

Dr. Strange thought it over, changed his mind, changed his mind again, and then smiled with the sides of his eyes. 

“I’ve got a better idea,” he offered. “You keep Mjolnir, and I’ll keep the time loops. But, if you ever find yourself stuck in one of those loops and needing an exit…” he spun a tiny, orange-sparking portal in the air, and reached his arm through it, offering Loki a business card. Surprised, Loki accepted it. “…Give me a call,” Dr. Strange concluded. 

Loki blinked and was back on Sakaar, the business card physically present in his hand. It infuriated him to no end that he had no idea how Dr. Strange had pushed actual _matter_ , an actual physical object, through millions of lightyears like that, hijacking and clearly one-upping Loki’s own magic. Still, it seemed the irritating so-called ‘sorcerer’ might be a useful ally, in a certain scenario. 

But now Loki had other aspects of his plans to focus on—it was almost morning on Sakaar, and almost time to drag Thor out for his first public appearance as the only contender to survive a bout with the Beloved Champion. 

And, after that, Loki had other things he needed Thor to do. 

It was going to be a busy day.


	13. Loki has a heart

Loki made his way to the Hulk’s suite, grimly preparing himself for the Difficult Conversation he was going to have to have with his brother. Fortunately, the green beast was sound asleep in his bed, so Loki snuck into the room without bothering to disguise himself. 

He looked around for Thor, but he was nowhere to be found. Loki even checked the closet. No Thor. Loki frowned, and wondered if it was possible—no, it was definitely _not_ possible—that Thor had escaped somehow on his own. 

Then something that didn’t sound like Hulk made a happy little “mm,” sound, from the vicinity of the bed. Cautiously, Loki approached.

The Hulk was sleeping peacefully, his enormous ribcage flexing smoothly with each deep breath. And to Loki’s astonishment, there was someone else tucked under the covers—hugged against the Hulk’s chest. 

Loki dipped his chin, eyes wide as he realized what he was looking at:

It was Thor, cuddled up with the Hulk in bed—and looking as comfortable as Loki had ever seen him, damn him, he was practically sleeping with a smile on his face. 

A hundred questions reeled through Loki’s mind, mostly starting with ‘what’, ‘how’, and especially ‘why’, but at least Thor seemed unharmed. Loki remembered what the Grandmaster had shown him, Hulk and Thor in the steaming tub, Thor pulling the Hulk’s shoulders apart with his strong warm hands—but that was just, that was not even—still Loki couldn’t believe his brother would have intentionally lured the Hulk into _sleeping_ with him. So what was Loki seeing here, really? 

He considered, as objectively as possible, the scene. It occurred to him that this overnight arrangement must have been the Hulk’s idea, rather than Thor’s—and Thor had gone along with it? Letting himself be held onto, like a, like a…comfort. 

That notion took Loki by surprise, causing him to cross his arms over his chest. He stood there, pondering the likely desires of each occupant of the bed, and finally realized that he understood exactly what was going on. Of course Thor would’ve let the Hulk hold onto him, if the Hulk had needed that. _Of course he would’ve._ Thor had never much objected to sleeping with someone who needed him. 

From his defensively folded arms, Loki brought one fist up to his mouth, pressed his knuckle through his lips until it rested against his teeth. Loki did have a heart, after all, and seeing his brother like this, willing to share comfort even with the Hulk—it was just… _aww_. 

The gentle, steady rush of the Hulk’s breathing was getting to Loki now, lulling away his impatience. A part of him almost wished he could leave the two of them as he’d found them, just sneak right back out and devise some other way to ruin the Grandmaster and destroy Sakaar without Thor’s help at all. Another part of him almost wished he could--

But no—plans were already in motion, and Thor had a part to play. 

Loki cleared his throat, softly. “Thor,” he whispered. “ _Thor_.” 

“Mmh, Loki,” Thor mumbled, not even opening his eyes. “What is it?” 

“I need you to come with me, I’ll explain on the way. Let’s go before Hulk wakes up.” 

Thor thought about that, then snuggled defiantly back against the Hulk’s chest. “I don’t think Hulk will appreciate that,” he informed his brother. 

Loki quirked an eyebrow. “Exactly what is going on between you two, dare I ask?”

Thor shrugged. “Not sure. Yesterday he could barely keep his hands off me, wouldn’t let me out of his sight for a minute.” 

Loki shook his head, clearly convinced that this was all his brother’s fault. “Thor, how much physical affection do you think the Hulk’s experienced, in his entire existence?” before Thor could muddle that through, Loki sighed. “Never mind. Get up, we have to go.” 

Hulk made a noise, a grumbly whine of distress, and tightened his hold on his prize. 

Suppressing a tiny curse or two, Loki flashed immediately into the guise of the Grandmaster. Thor raised his eyebrows, always impressed by how quickly Loki could make those switches. 

“Ahem,” Loki announced, trying out his best approximation of the Grandmaster’s voice. “Oh, Champion? My Beloved Champion, are you awake?”

“…Master?” muttered the Hulk, blearily. 

“Yes, hello—Good morning—did you sleep well?” 

“Uh-huh,” Hulk said, nodding his head up and down against the pillow. 

Loki grinned, a little too widely. “It’s so nice to see you’re getting along with your new friend.”

The Hulk’s expression clouded, and he curled himself around Thor even more. “Grandmaster take friend away?” he asked.

“Whaaat?!” Loki feigned surprise. “No--Never—no one will Ever take him away from you, I promise. He’s all yours.”

That was exactly what the Hulk needed to hear. “Good,” he grunted, relaxing. 

“Now, I do need your friend to go downstairs for a little while to help me with something, is that okay?” Loki asked, his replica of the Grandmaster’s face looking perfectly earnest, the dark eyes gleaming. “It will really help me out, if it’s okay with you. He’ll come right back up here when he’s done, I promise.” 

Hulk considered this, scrunching up his face. Of course he didn’t want Thor to go anywhere, but, he did want to help the Grandmaster. And being in a position to make the decision about whether or not Thor was allowed to go made Hulk feel very dignified. In essence, by asking the Hulk’s permission for Thor to go out, the Grandmaster wasn’t taking Thor away at all. To Hulk it seemed there was a world of difference.

Hulk furrowed his brow. “Thor go help you…then come home?” 

“I promise,” the Grandmaster said. “Is that all right with you?”

“…okay,” Hulk reluctantly agreed. He rolled onto his back, raising his arm and freeing Thor, who sat up beside him. 

“Can’t Hulk come with us, wherever we’re going?” Thor asked. The Grandmaster sent him a look that could curdle cheese. 

“Yeah!” Hulk exclaimed, also sitting up. “Hulk come too.”

“Oh, that would be lovely,” the Grandmaster said, in a sympathetic voice. “But, if you did, you would have to miss your training session with our favorite Scrapper, Scrapper 142… and I think she mentioned she’s busy the rest of the week, so today’s your last chance to see her for a while… she’d be so sad if you missed your training, but, if you still want to come along with us…” 

Hulk’s face fell at the thought of making Angry Girl sad. “…No,” he decided after a minute. “No. Hulk trains with Angry Girl. Thor go help Grandmaster.” 

“Wonderful, my Champion, wonderful decision. Scrapper 142 will be absolutely delighted, no doubt. Thor, tell Hulk you’ll see him later.”

Thor looked Hulk squarely in the eyes, saw a glimmer there, a barely-concealed fear of separation. It sort of broke his heart. “I’ll see you later,” Thor promised. 

***

Loki got his brother out of there as fast as he could, transforming back into himself just as soon as they were out of the Hulk’s line of sight. Although it had only been an illusion, Loki had to shake himself once or twice to get the feeling of the Grandmaster off him. 

“Really, Thor,” Loki scolded, hustling his brother down a hallway. “A while ago it was that human woman and now, a Hulk?? Are you ever going to be interested in your own species?”

Thor took offense at that concept—the word ‘species’ had sounded like a dirty word.

“What do you mean, ‘species’—have you courted any _frost giants_ lately?” Thor demanded.

Loki tipped his head sideways, acknowledging his brother had a point. 

“Speaking of…” Thor regarded his brother, down-and-up. 

Loki froze. “Not you too,” he muttered. 

“Something’s off about you,” Thor noted. “I mean, you are usually sort of…like this,” 

“It was something in a drink, all right?” Loki scowled. “Some stupid drug. I barely tasted it.”

Now Thor looked dreadfully worried. “The Grandmaster spiked your drink?” 

“Not exactly, and I don’t have time to explain it, we have to—”

Thor was ignoring him, a bemused look on his face. “Frost _giant_ …” he muttered, circling back to that subject with an exaggerated frown. “You know I’ve never actually seen you, as a Jotun?”

Loki was taken aback. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“How big are you?” Thor asked, bluntly. 

For some reason, Loki had to repress a sudden urge to stab Thor right in the throat. “I beg your pardon?” 

Thor raised his hand in the air, palm parallel to the floor, as if taking the measure of something over his head. “It’s a simple question. As a Frost Giant, just how _giant_ are you?” 

“Why do you want to know?? Actually, stop. Whatever you’re thinking of, stop thinking of it.”

Thor looked offended. “ _You_ stop thinking of it,” he chided. 

Loki grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him around a corner. “Listen to me. Here’s what you need to know. The Grandmaster has seen fit to make me your manager.”

“Manager? What—” 

“Shush. This works out in your favor, as it puts me in a position not only to control your public appearances, but also to screen all your clients for private showings, so I can decide which of your eager fans are the best fit for you.”

“Euwgh,” Thor couldn’t have looked more disgusted if he’d tried. “Screen me a client who can help me escape.” 

“I’m working on that,” Loki assured him. “But in the meantime—” he held up one of the devices that controlled the obedience disks. 

A huge smile lit Thor’s face. “Loki! You did it!” he reached for the device, nearly giddy with excitement. “You stole one those things for me—" 

Loki jerked the device away from Thor’s grasp, hunching his shoulders. “No,” he said, quietly, hating himself just a little as the smile crumbled away from Thor’s face. “I’m sorry—this is mine. I show you this only to tell you that in the meantime, until everything is ready, you have to cooperate.” 

“Or you’ll zap me?” Thor realized, bristling. “Typical. You’re just like him, you know?? You and your Grandmaster, you’re both such—ugh! Congrats on finding each other I suppose—I bet you’ve never been happier.” 

Loki tried his best to hide from the sting of that. “If you cooperate,” he went on, “I’ll eventually be able to take that disk off you.” 

“How about I’ll cooperate _if_ you give me that controller, right now,” Thor countered. 

“Steal one yourself, if you want one so bad,” Loki huffed. 

Thor hadn’t thought of that—but he grudgingly had to admit, it was a good idea. He’d have to keep an eye out for an opportunity to do just that. 

“Come on,” Loki resumed pulling him down the hall. “You have somewhere to be—and if you’re feeling any anger, hold on to it—you might need it.” 

That sounded rather ominous, and Thor considered his options for getting away—sprinting off in the opposite direction of where Loki was taking him wasn’t going to work if Loki was willing to activate the wretched disk in his neck. Could he incapacitate Loki somehow? A failed attempt would mean an extended zap, no doubt—as well as the loss of any good will that Loki might currently be willing to show him. 

Not seeing any other option, Thor went with his brother.


	14. An uncomfortably intimate request/demand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes!! This is a Thor & Loki (and Sakaar!) chapter; Hulk's back next time.  
>  _Are you a fighter? Or are you food?_  
> ...I sort of took that food-or-fighter line and ran with it, and invented some stuff about Sakaar that hopefully won't clash too badly with whatever head-canon y'all have for yourselves. Sakaar is just so cool. o_o

At last they arrived, somewhere within the lower levels of the tower, at a sort of staging area before an enormous door—a small ship could have flown through it with ease. There was a flat-decked vehicle parked in front of the door, a sort of a hover-barge, which was being hastily checked over by several small, scurrying robots. On the barge was an elevated circular platform, which Thor guessed he’d be made to stand on. The platform had a metal railing around it roughly hip-high, and there were heavy manacles affixed to it, just waiting to seal themselves around Thor’s wrists. 

“Urgh,” Thor groaned, realizing how uncomfortable this was likely to be. 

“This is for the public display,” Loki explained, although Thor had already figured that out. “It’s a Sakaarian tradition to give the masses an up-close glimpse of a particularly successful gladiator. I understand a sizable crowd has already gathered out in the streets, waiting to see you.”

“So I ride around on this barge and then what? People pay you for a chance to torture me? Very exciting. Can’t wait for that part.” Thor was in one of _those_ moods again, obviously. Bringing the obedience disk back into play had soured things fast. 

“It’s not as if I’m throwing you to The Wolves,” Loki said, clearly as a reprimand. “Actually—do you even know what ‘The Wolves’ are, on Sakaar?”

Thor shrugged. “Big hungry dogs?” he guessed, clearly unconcerned. 

“Not quite. The Wolves are a gang of scrappers from the wastepiles who drink only one thing—the fluids of gladiators from the Contest of Champions. They make do with blood, most of the time, but when a special contender comes along, they pay extra for—”

“Yes, thank you, I get it,” Thor cut him off. “And, thank you for crossing ‘The Wolves’ off the list for me. But somehow I doubt they’re any worse than the rest of this planet.”

“It is a bit…grim,” Loki admitted. “A request was made for you to speak to a group of children—”

“That doesn’t sound terrible,” Thor spoke up, suddenly hopeful. 

“…On Sakaar, one-fourth of the children are born to be slaughtered for food, one-fourth are bred to be fighters for the arena, and the remainder grow up to be the eaters, breeders, and spectators for the Contest,” Loki informed his brother. 

“You’re telling me they eat their young?!” Thor was plainly outraged. 

“They eat whatever they can catch and kill, but yes, some of their offspring are sold as food.”

“Please tell me the kids they eat aren’t called ‘trashworms’…” Thor suddenly looked queasy. 

“What? No, trashworms are, like, actual worms,” Loki explained. “Big ones. Why?”

“Good—it’s not important. Just wondering. Anyway, they want me to speak to the kids?”

“…and dispatch a few of the weaker fighters among them, as a demonstration.” Loki looked down, recognizing that indeed, this was horrible. 

Thor fixed Loki with a determined glare. “I’d rather get liquified and slurped up by that gang of ‘Wolves’ than have to butcher actual children.” 

Loki sighed. “I know, which is why I refused that request. I’m not asking you to trust me, only…try your best to play along, when I need you to do something.”

“Fine, what do you need? Ready to strap me in for the stupid parade?”

Loki almost smiled. “Yes, but, it won’t actually be _you_ up there—there’s very little money to be made from a public display, so, you’re going to have to be in two places at once.” 

With that, Loki conjured a perfect copy of Thor into existence, every ounce as grumpy-looking as the original. Thor narrowed his eyes at his duplicate, unable at find any flaw in the illusion’s appearance—there was even the semblance of an obedience disk in its neck. 

“Won’t work,” Thor declared. “I’m pretty sure I know how this goes—someone in the crowd will throw a rotten fruit at my face, which will sail right through this illusion--” he jabbed a finger through the side of the illusion’s head, which the illusion didn’t seem to notice at all—“And then everyone will know it’s just a trick.” 

Loki rolled his eyes. “First, there’s no arable land on Sakaar so plant-based foods are exceedingly rare—any sort of fruit is a luxury that only the residents of this tower can afford. Second, there’s a barrier around the platform, so anything thrown at you will be incinerated in midair. If the Grandmaster is watching, he’ll know that it isn’t really you, but he told me he won’t question my methods as long as you earn four million units a week.”

“ _Four million?_ ” Thor echoed, aghast. It seemed an impossible sum. He clearly remembered his entire person being sold to the Grandmaster for ten—and if the not-so-awful ‘public display’ wasn’t going to be profitable, how many wealthy, hopefully non-cannibalistic ‘clients’ might he have to endure in order to earn four million? “Loki, I can’t…” Thor said in despair.

Loki must have sensed his train of thought, because he grinned in delight. “Brother you underestimate yourself.” 

Loki nodded at the mute copy of Thor, which stepped up onto the barge and took its place on the platform. 

One of the technician bots rolled up and made a beeping enquiry, which Loki answered with a wave of some kind of access card. Under the barge, a series of engines hummed, lifting the vehicle about ten feet into the air, and a booming _CHUD!_ seemed to rock the whole tower as the immense door began to open. 

As the first crack of daylight from outside speared the garage, an increasing noise came in with it—a roar, a scream, a rising sound like a thousand rocket engines. It made the hair on Thor’s arms stand on end. 

“The crowd,” Loki explained, already having to raise his voice to be heard above the din. “You’re very much in demand.” 

Thor’s mouth fell open as the noise of the cheering people outside rose to a deafening cacophony. There must have been a million of them out there, screaming—it was somehow even louder than the cheers from the arena. 

The last thing Thor saw before Loki led him away was the back of the copy of himself, standing resolute on the platform—his dark silhouette centered against the white daylight beginning to pour in from the streets of Sakaar. 

The noise of the crowd followed them down several more corridors, until finally Loki took a turn into a tunnel that clearly led underground. 

“Where are we going?” Thor asked at last, still a little bewildered—nearly humbled, really--by the reaction of the populace to the rolling-out of his public display. 

“Other side of the planet,” Loki informed him briskly. “And I should warn you, it’s a bit of an unpleasant trip.” 

There was an elevator at the end of the tunnel, with one button to push: an arrow pointing down. 

The trip, as it turned out, was a little like traveling via the Bifrost, combined with being dragged underwater in a magenta-and-lemon rip current, combined with going upside down and backwards down a long drop on a roller coaster in the middle of a hurricane. 

When the elevator door dinged open on the other side, Thor’s heart was pounding. He hoped he hadn’t screamed. Loki, for his part, looked equal parts amused and nauseous. 

“Was that… is there a wormhole _through_ the core?” Thor wondered. 

Loki shook his head. “Honestly your guess is as good as mine, but, most likely yes. Come on.” 

They made their way outside into a blustery nightscape, where the endless piles of trash seemed a lot more decayed and fragmented than those on the other side. The sky was totally dark, layered banks of clouds dense overhead, a skittering wind blowing feathery bits of rubbish over their boots at every step. 

“It’s always night, on this side,” Loki explained, and anticipated Thor’s next question. “Yes, even when it’s night on the city side too. And, there’s been a consistent storm raging in the atmosphere above this zone, probably for centuries.”

“I feel it,” Thor acknowledged, scanning the clouds. A reedy vein of ultraviolet lightning flickered in the distance. 

They hadn’t traveled far when they reached their destination—a sturdy, roofless, hexagonal structure that might have served as a fort, for a smallish race of beings. Within the walls, rows upon rows of metallic, three-foot-high canisters had been arranged, bound into bundles as if awaiting shipment. There must have been hundreds of them. 

“Take a guess what these are,” Loki said, sounding overly pleased with himself.

Thor looked around. Each canister had a thick, detachable cable protruding from its top, snaking away into the ground. The effect reminded Thor of something he’d seen on earth, mostly in cartoons—sticks of dynamite, each with a fuse. “Weapons?” Thor guessed. “I don’t know… bombs?” 

Loki shook his head, chuckling to himself. “Oh, it’s so much better than that. I’ve already told you there’s no naturally occurring plant life on Sakaar. All the living creatures here are relatively recent imports from somewhere else. Which means, Sakaar is conspicuously devoid of any of the layers of decomposed organisms that most primitive civilizations use for…”

Thor had been trying to follow Loki’s exposition, but it was sounding annoyingly academic. He did, however, have a basic idea of how most plant-covered, inhabited planets worked. “What… fuel?” he supposed. 

Loki’s eyes gleamed as he smiled. “Exactly. No oil, no coal, no methane. How _do_ the Sakaarians keep the lights on?”

“How should I know? Some infernal magic, maybe? Do they burn their heaps of garbage?” Thor was getting impatient with this guessing game, and wished Loki would just tell him whatever he needed to know. 

Loki indicated the rows of canisters with a sweep of his hand. “Batteries,” he said, smug. 

A faint web of purplish lightning laced the clouds high above, providing just enough light for Thor to now make out one other notable feature of the facility—a series of poles, each probably a hundred feet high, protruding into the sky. _Lightning rods._

The confused expression on Thor’s face lasted a few seconds too long, and Loki knew they’d reached that awkward moment where he was going to have to Explain Things to his brother. “So…” he began carefully, looking away and clasping his hands behind his back. “A while ago I became curious about how the city was powered and I learned that almost everything runs on these batteries. And what we’re standing in now is a charging station where someone worked out how to use the perpetual storm in the atmosphere here to recharge power cells. Of course, nature is notoriously fickle and often, supply cannot keep pace with demand. If someone could devise a way to recharge these batteries faster than the naturally occurring weather…”

Loki looked hopefully up at Thor, whose expression did not seem promising. _Please Thor Please please cooperate, please go along with this, please don’t make this difficult…_

“You want me to…” Thor looked again at the turbulent sky, then down at the rows of batteries. He was catching on. 

“I do,” Loki confirmed—relieved at Thor’s apparent comprehension of the plan. It was a simple enough concept, and yet an uncomfortably intimate request/demand to make.

“…you really think that will work?” Thor asked, skeptical. 

“One way to find out,” Loki replied, voice carefully measured. He didn’t want to scare Thor off now, not when he was this close. 

Thor swallowed, stepping up to the nearest battery. He put his hand on the top of it, and looked back at Loki for advice. “Is it just—it needs to hit the poles, up there?”

“That’s the idea,” Loki encouraged. 

Thor twisted up his face in concentration. Throwing a few lightning bolts around should be easy enough, considering the power he’d been born with. He tensed his shoulders, reached out with his will—

A streak of light answered, exactly as called, accompanied by a bone-rattling thunderclap.

“ _Yes_ ,” Loki said in a short hiss, clenching a fist in victory. “Well done, Thor.” 

Thor looked slightly embarrassed to be complimented for something which had taken so little effort—an expression that Loki did not notice, because he was busy checking the batteries’ status on a digital tablet.

“Oh…no,” Loki said after a minute, face going blank. 

“What’s wrong?” Thor asked, craning his neck to get a look at the display. 

“Nothing, just… try it again,” Loki instructed, biting his lip. 

Thor shrugged, looked up, and summoned another bolt of violet-white to strike one of the waiting poles. 

“Damn it,” Loki cursed, his voice lost under incoming peal of thunder. He showed the tablet to Thor. “It started at zero.” 

“Power level, .02 percent charged??” Thor read, indignant. Without waiting for Loki’s cue, Thor focused on the sky and directed a double-bolt of lightning squarely into the heart of the station. 

The thunder was so loud this time, it caused both sons of Odin to hunch a little. 

They checked the display. “.04 percent? This is going to take forever,” Thor complained. 

“And, this is only for this one battery,” Loki informed him. “The others are still at zero.”

“You’re telling me just one of these batteries can contain the energy of a thousand bolts of lightning?” 

Loki glanced high and left. “Ten thousand, actually,” he said in an apologetic voice, instinctively correcting his brother’s math. “And I agree, that’s absurd. A lot of the energy must be getting lost in the ground. I’m not sure how accurate you can be, but, um… try for the canister itself, instead of the poles?”

Thor grit his teeth and obliged, bringing down a blast of light and a thump of thunder squarely onto the battery itself. 

“One percent charged,” Loki reported. “That’s… better, at least.”

“So I do that a hundred times, and this one’s done? How many of these batteries do you need?” Thor was clearly disgruntled at facing such a tedious task. 

“All of them,” Loki said softly. “With these batteries I can destabilize the entire economy, accumulate all the wealth—”

“How many do you need to get us back to Asgard?” Thor asked, raising his voice. 

Loki gave him one of those patronizing, clearly-you-don’t-understand-what’s-going-on-here looks. “You’re angry—good. Try the lightning, with the anger this time,” Loki urged. 

Biting back a growl, Thor let his frustration tear through him, into the air, into the clouds—and lightning crashed down at his bidding, ten, twelve, twenty streaks of searing white. 

“Ten percent, excellent,” Loki noted, as the thunder rumbled away into the distance. Even after all their years together, being so close to Thor’s handiwork still left Loki a little shaken, made him feel a little bit like ducking for cover. “Why are you so much more effective when you’re emotional?” 

“I’ve no idea,” Thor declared, disliking the way Loki was studying him. 

“You’ve been the God of Thunder for centuries…” Loki said, deliberately. “By now, you should have figured out how you work.”

“I work with Mjolnir,” said Thor. “This would all be so much easier if I had--”

“You didn’t have Mjolnir when you were fighting the Hulk,” Loki interrupted. “And, as I recall, during that fight you were able to call more power to yourself than I’d ever seen before. How’d you do it?”

Thor shook his head. “I don’t know.” 

“I think you do,” Loki countered. 

With everything else that had happened since waking up as the Hulk’s ‘prize’, Thor hadn’t had time to properly think it through. What had happened to him, in that fight? Something different, something new. The lightning hadn’t just responded to him, it had become part of his very being. “Hulk was about to kill me. It was—self-defense.” 

“Self-defense…” mused Loki, circling Thor slowly. 

Thor watched him, feeling his anger give way to a weary sadness as he intuited where Loki was going with this. “Loki, please—do not try to kill me right now, I _am_ playing along like you asked.” 

“You are, but Thor—you _could_ be doing so much better! We have to unlock your potential. If we activate the self-defense mechanism that saved you in that fight, we could have these batteries filled in no time.” 

Loki’s eagerness to bring Thor to the brink of annihilation, apparently for his own convenience in financing a power play, was suddenly wearing on Thor’s last nerve. 

“It’s not some switch you can turn on and off,” Thor protested.

“Isn’t it? I think it might be,” Loki insisted. “Let me try it, inside your mind. May I?” he reached for his brother’s face.

“What?” Thor dodged his hand. “Is that some new trick you’re doing these days?”

“You can call it a trick if you like—let me look inside your head and see if I can find the switch.”

Thor could not believe what Loki was proposing. “You want me, to let you, go inside my head, to find the thing that happened to me when I thought I was about to be killed, so that you can make it happen to me again?” 

“Yes, exactly.” 

They stared at each other. 

“No,” said Thor. 

Loki held up the controller for the obedience disk. “I did try to ask nicely first.”


	15. Thor needs Hulk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> of note, Mjolnir actually was a crutch in the comics. ^^; Also you will notice, we go through one of the best scenes in Ragnarok, in this chapter. And if anyone wants to help me write the NEXT chapter, bless your heart...

Thor backed away, one hand covering the side his neck defensively, the other pointing at Loki. “Yesterday you said I needed to avoid getting zapped for two days.”

“And?” Loki asked, blinking. 

“And it’s only been _one_ day!” Thor reminded him. 

Loki rolled his eyes. “I won’t turn it all the way up—the effect may linger for a while but it’s not like you won’t survive,” Loki assured him, voice flat. Deciding not to entertain any further discussion, Loki looked away as he pressed the button, his face betraying no reaction as Thor crumpled to the ground. 

Loki let his brother suffer for a handful of heartbeats, his punishment for saying ‘no’, then crouched beside him, and reached for his face. “I will kindle that power in you, Thor,” he murmured. 

It tingled, going in. Loki hadn’t suspected that invading the mind of someone paralyzed with pain would be so…exhilarating. He dove right through the layer of _it hurts it hurts it hurts_ , ignored the annoying subsequent layer of _Loki stop Loki stop Loki stop_ , and found the memories he was looking for. 

The arena. The Hulk. Unexpectedly, a vision of Odin as he’d appeared just before his death. 

And there it was, the lightning Loki sought. Oh, it was so much more than self-defense! This power was to self-defense as a masterfully forged sword was to a butter knife. It was as if Thor’s true nature had been asleep all along, and had suddenly woken up. And what use was Mjolnir, compared to this? Might as well use that hammer for a doorstop. 

Loki saw clearly then that Mjolnir had been a crutch, keeping Thor limping along, so he had never discovered this truth about himself.

Loki suddenly considered their father and his lies. Perhaps he hadn’t given Mjolnir to Thor to help him… but to hold him back? Keep him at a rudimentary, controllable level? That was just the sort of thing Odin would have done. But was it cruelty or kindness, to keep a god such as Thor from reaching his full power?

In any case, Loki had found what he needed, and could debate their father’s motives later. Pulling from that white-hot fissure in Thor’s memory, Loki drew his brother’s innate power forward into reality, amplifying it through every layer of emotion he could find. 

The full power of an elemental _God_ erupted at the surface, throwing Loki clear across the station. A waterfall of lightning poured from the sky, columns of energy one and two feet in diameter merging together in massive trunks of light, tinged at the edges in ultramarine. The batteries chattered in their bundles as stray bits of debris were vaporized in the air around them. 

A cry of delight from Loki was lost in the roar and crash of the clouds tearing themselves apart. He pulled himself to his feet, amazed at what he’d wrought from the depths of Thor’s soul. And the lightning-fall was still blazing strong, no sign of flagging. Loki had found a floodgate and torn it open, trapped Thor’s ‘self-defense switch’ in the ‘on’ position. He wondered fleetingly if this was his greatest accomplishment thus far, activating this much power—but no, surely sneaking his way onto Odin’s throne and ruling Asgard (competently!) for years had been a greater feat. 

He checked the tablet—it was working perfectly. Every battery in the station was rapidly charging. A few more seconds and they’d all be at a hundred percent. 

Those few seconds, however, may as well have been a lifetime for Thor. It didn’t hurt anymore, thankfully—or more likely it _was_ still hurting, but he wasn’t able to feel it. Instead he felt numb, especially in his mind where he knew Loki had been poking around, leaving an icy, anesthetized trail wherever he went. Thor was glad for the lightning as it poured over him—he felt like a fish on dry ground, glad for a bucket of water poured over his gills. But he was still trapped, trapped by his brother, again. How long could their game go on?

That’s when Thor came to a realization, and maybe it was the numbness in his mind but, he could barely feel sad about it: 

Loki was never going to change. 

And Thor was done with him. 

This epiphany wasn’t at all earth-shattering: it was obvious, necessary. The game was over now, because Thor was ending it. This time, Thor would be the one to let go. No more chasing his brother, trying to save him, trying to change him, trying to earn from him something that Loki just didn’t have in him to give. No more grieving for his lost little brother. No more. (Loki hadn’t even been sorry for that—in New York he’d said he was honored, that Thor had mourned him— _honored_ , not sorry.) Thor was tired of being so…used. He was done. 

It was okay, Thor thought, looking blindly upward at the alien sky. It was okay to move on, and finally leave Loki behind. 

Nine thrilling seconds, and it was over. Loki had harvested enough energy to power everything on Sakaar for a dozen years—although of course his plans were to bring about the Grandmaster’s demise much sooner than that. Each of the canisters could be sold for upwards of a million units, a fact Loki didn’t plan to share with Thor. 

Loki jammed the button on the fob device and released his brother. The lightning-fall stopped abruptly, though tiny sizzles of bright-blue still twitched across Thor’s body. The dark and the wind returned to the station, and the sparks along Thor’s limbs sputtered and then ceased. 

“Thor?” Loki asked after a minute, keeping his distance. “Are you all right?”

Thor sat up, slowly, rubbing his neck. Somehow he didn’t look as furious as Loki had expected—which set off a little warning bell, somewhere in the back of Loki’s mind. 

“Yeah, think so.” Thor said simply. 

“Good. Um—it worked, by the way. They’re all charged. I won’t have to bring you here again.”

“Great.” Thor rose unsteadily to his feet. 

“And, you,” Loki swallowed, fumbling for how to put this into words. “You have, inside you, more power than—”

“Loki, shut up.” 

Loki closed his mouth, accepting that this was not the time; Thor was in no mood. At least their mission for the day had been a success. 

Making sure to maintain a precautionary distance between them, Loki brought his brother back to the Beloved Champion’s suite, and left him there alone without a word. 

***

The Hulk was out training, so Thor had some time to himself. 

Absently he wandered through the Hulk’s quarters, his thoughts drawn back to the death of his father, the plight of Asgard, and his need to escape from Sakaar. He had to get to the Quinjet—but first had to deactivate his damned obedience disk. He hated the thought of having to figure these things out on his own—he needed help, allies, teammates…which all seemed to be in woefully short supply. He knew he couldn’t count on any help from his brother, that was for sure. If only someone would give Loki a taste of his own medicine, thought Thor, that would be a happy day. 

When Hulk returned he was delighted to see Thor again, and couldn’t resist attempting to give him a hug. Thor was less than accommodating, grumbling “all right, get off me” as he awkwardly disentangled himself from the Champion’s embrace. 

Hulk’s innocent smile faltered as he realized that Thor wasn’t as happy to see Hulk as Hulk was to see Thor. Hulk had been fully expecting Thor to greet him warmly, affectionately—ever since Thor had left that morning, Hulk had been looking forward to their reunion. Hulk thought that sharing his bed had brought them closer, made them much more important to each other—it didn’t occur to him that Thor might not have felt the same. In any case, as Thor pushed him away, not meeting his gaze, Hulk couldn’t imagine what he’d done to deserve such a rebuke.

Something, without a doubt, was wrong with Thor. Hulk watched with a critical eye as his friend settled down on the top step to brood. He waited a few minutes, hoping that Thor would brighten up, maybe ask Hulk about his training or say he was glad to see him…but no. Thor appeared lost in his own thoughts. 

Not knowing what to do, Hulk climbed onto his bed, wistfully wishing that Thor would join him. He tossed and turned for a few minutes, pretended to take a nap, peeked at Thor and realized his prize was trying to pull the obedience disk out of his neck! If he succeeded, Hulk knew, he would die instantly. 

Hulk sat up and scooted to the edge of the bed. If Thor was suicidal, Hulk had to intervene. 

“Thor sad,” Hulk announced. Why else would Thor be hurting himself in a potentially fatal way? It had to be despair. Hulk had been in that state before, though he didn’t know how to explain that to his friend. 

“ _Shut up_ ,” Thor snapped. He’d had quite enough of other people telling him things about himself. And he was beyond frustrated that his most determined efforts yet had still failed to dislodge the disk. 

Hulk wasn’t going to be deterred. Thor’s endangered emotional state was a big deal—Hulk could not ignore it. He pushed himself off the bed and shoved Thor sideways. “Thor sad!!” he repeated, not sure how else to express the seriousness of the situation. 

Thor stood up, tensing. “I’m not sad, you idiot, I’m pissed off!” he yelled at the Hulk. “Angry—I lost my father, I lost my hammer…” _I lost the will to care about my brother…_

Hulk had looked away. “You’re not even listening,” Thor accused, kicking the nearest thing to his foot. 

Hulk had, in fact, been listening—which meant that now his feelings were slightly hurt. To make matters worse, Thor had punctuated his false accusation by kicking a helmet at Hulk—a prize Hulk had won in some other fight, which the previous owner of the helmet had not survived. It seemed an insult to the memory of that deceased contender, and to the Hulk himself, to have Thor kick it. 

“Don’t kick stuff!” Hulk cried. 

“You’re being a really bad friend!” Thor yelled—more than a little unfairly. He was mostly furious at his own inability to escape--not so much at Hulk. 

“ _You_ bad friend!” returned the Hulk, rightfully offended. How could Thor say that to him? What had he done wrong? No, Thor was the wrong one, Hulk was certain.

Thor was on a streak now, provoked beyond recovery. “You know what we call you?” he seethed, voice hot. “We call you the _stupid_ Avenger.” 

“You _tiny_ Avenger!” Hulk hollered back. He flung a shield at Thor, and gathered up the nearest weapon—a medieval spiked mace, Hulk-sized.

“What are you, crazy??” Thor asked, as the shield sliced into the wall beside him.

Hulk adjusted his grip, raising the mace over his shoulder. “Yes,” he replied. 

“You know what?” Thor stabbed a finger in Hulk’s direction, face scrunched up in derision. “Earth does hate you.” 

That was something Hulk had always known, had even said aloud, but still it hurt. The fight went out of him, all at once, and he lowered the mace to the floor. There was no point in fighting Thor; Thor was right. Hulk saw it now, understood: Hulk was the bad one, after all. 

With a little stomp of frustration, knowing he had lost the argument, knowing he was truly despised, Hulk huffed over to his bed and sat down on the edge of it.

 _Oh no_ …Thor realized what he’d done. Now Hulk was miserable, and it was all Thor’s fault. His words had cut too deep, and he was going to have to fix it. 

“Nuh-uh. No,” Hulk muttered feebly as Thor approached him. He didn’t want Thor anywhere near him now. Thor spoke for all the millions and millions of people who hated Hulk—why couldn’t he just leave Hulk alone?

Thor took a seat at the foot of the bed, next to the Hulk. “I’m sorry I said those things,” he began. “You’re not the stupid Avenger. Nobody calls you the stupid Avenger.”

“It’s okay,” Hulk grunted. 

“You just can’t go throwing shields at people. Could have killed me,” Thor pointed out. 

“I know, I’m sorry,” Hulk said, meaningfully. “I just get so angry all the time. Hulk always, always angry.”

Thor nodded, understanding completely. He’d recently been feeling quite a lot of anger himself—and anger had gotten the better of him many times in the past, he was ashamed to say. “I know. We’re the same, you and I. Just a couple of hot-headed fools.”

“Yeah, same,” mumbled the Hulk, trying to figure out how to properly express his feelings on the matter. He knew what Thor was saying, they were both angry, but compared to Hulk, Thor’s anger seemed so much less. It was still anger, just, maybe much less destructive. How to explain? “Hulk like fire, Thor like water,” Hulk attempted, thinking that maybe fire and water were, sort of, in the same family of things. 

“Hm…” Thor was making an uncomfortable face. “We’re kind of both like fire,” he corrected awkwardly. 

“But Hulk like real fire,” Hulk tried to explain. “Hulk like…raging fire. Thor like smoldering fire.”

Thor was clearly not on board with that comparison either, his face scrunched in visible distress at holding back a protest, but wisely he decided that Hulk was most likely not trying to insult him. And even if it was meant as an insult, it wasn’t worth arguing over, and, even if it would have been worth arguing over in a different setting, after saying such horrible things to the Hulk, Thor kind of deserved to be knocked down a couple pegs. So, he decided to accept the Hulk’s subtle, probably unintentional put-down, and move on. 

Thor had an idea, something he’d been mulling over for a while. It seemed that Hulk had said his piece, and they had more-or-less reconciled after their spat, so Thor decided now was as good a time as any to change the subject. “Hulk, I need you to do something for me.” 

Hulk sighed, shoulders slumped. “…lull’bye,” he guessed, dejected. 

Thor’s eyes narrowed. “What?” 

Hulk turned one big green hand palm-up, and offered Thor his wrist. “Thor not need Hulk. Nobody need Hulk. Thor need…Banner,” he summarized, totally resigned. 

“Oh, Hulk--” Thor took the offered hand with both of his own, and squeezed the sides of it. He was able to recognize, on some level, the significance of what Hulk was offering to do. “Banner might be helpful, yes, but… what I was going to ask you is something only Hulk can do.” 

Hulk met his eyes, suddenly hopeful. “Really? Thor needs Hulk?”

Thor nodded, hoping he wouldn’t regret passing up this chance to access Banner. 

“What Thor need? Hulk rub your back?” Hulk wondered, reaching for him. 

“Sure, we can try that again,” Thor agreed, bearing up splendidly as Hulk thumped a hand across his shoulders. “But actually I need to talk to Scrapper 142. Can you get her to come up here?”

“Angry Girl,” Hulk said, and looked confused. “Why?” 

“Well, she’s from Asgard, like me…” Thor said carefully, not wanting to admit his plan to steal her controller for the obedience disk. 

For a few seconds Hulk didn’t react, then a horrified expression crossed his face. “You like her?!?” 

“What? No! No, I don’t like her.” Now the Hulk looked vaguely hostile. “I mean, I _like_ her, she’s great!” Thor amended. “I just don’t _like_ -like her. I promise. Wait a minute.” Thor scrutinized the Hulk in disbelief. “Do _you_ like her??” 

“Not like that!” Hulk shook his head, offended. “Angry Girl best friend from Sakaar. Hulk likes Thor,” he added, with a guilty undertone. 

“Right,” Thor said, sighing. “You made that pretty clear last night. Anyway your friend ‘Angry Girl’ is from Asgard, and I’m from Asgard, so… I just want to talk to her,” Thor said, knowing full well that almost anyone else would know he was withholding his true motive. He’d always sort of sucked at lying. 

Hulk regarded him solemnly. “Thor miss home?” he asked. “Feel…homesick?”

“Yes, a little bit,” Thor confessed. 

Hulk looked at him in sympathy—there was no doubt now that Hulk could experience that emotion. Wordlessly, he leaned towards Thor, clearly moving in to try and hug him again.

When it became equally clear that Thor wasn’t going to evade him this time, Hulk picked up Thor’s whole body and squashed him against the wooden-bead garlands on his wide green chest, both arms wrapped around him and chin resting on the top of Thor’s head. 

“mpf,” Thor said, finding his face unexpectedly buried against the Hulk’s neck. His arms were pinned to his sides, so he pretty much had to wait for this to be over. Hulk eventually put him down, and Thor did his best to pretend that the air had not been squeezed out of his lungs. 

“Hulk call Angry Girl tomorrow,” Hulk said. “Too late tonight.” 

“Okay. Thank you,” Thor wheezed, still recovering from the hug. He suddenly realized it was dark outside—where had the day gone? It felt like no more than a couple of hours had passed since Loki had woken him up. But of course there was no telling how much time they’d really spent on the other side of the planet, especially since time worked so peculiarly on Sakaar. 

Hulk looked pointedly from Thor across to the pillows on the other end of the bed, then back at Thor. 

“Yes, all right,” Thor agreed, suddenly weary. “You know I think I would like a back rub—a very gentle, back rub.” 

“Okay, gentle,” Hulk agreed, as Thor hauled his armor off over his head. He watched, hungrily, as Thor stretched out face-down on the bed. 

The Hulk, at this point, was fully committed to doing whatever Thor wanted him to do. He kept his eagerness in check, ignored how good it might feel for Hulk to crush Thor’s flesh in his hands, and focused intently on being as careful as he could, not repeating his previous mistake. He stroked one hand down the length of Thor’s back, thumb more than filling the groove of his spine. If Thor needed a gentle Hulk, that’s what Thor would get. 

“...Oh my god,” Thor mumbled into the covers after a while. 

Hulk stopped, worried.

“No no no, don’t stop,” said Thor. “This is the best thing that’s happened to me in…” his voice trailed off, and he realized he honestly had no idea how long it had been, since anything remotely like this had happened to him. Who was the last person who’d made him feel this good? He didn’t know, and at the moment, didn’t care. Hulk was here for him, now, and that was enough… 

Or… 

_Uh oh._ Maybe it wasn’t? Maybe Thor really should try to accommodate the Hulk’s interest in him, one way or another? Suddenly it seemed not out of the realm of possibility that Thor could enjoy that. And more importantly, if Hulk was willing to be very careful, it seemed possible that he wouldn’t kill Thor in the process. 

This was going to be one weird night, Thor realized. Weird in a good way, probably.


	16. Totally ruined Forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, just a little too late for Valentine's Day! Perfect. XD  
> Now for some expectation management: Do any of y'all see an 'E' rating on this fic?? Me neither. :)  
> (If you've followed this story this far, I trust you can use your imagination.)  
> LET'S DO THIS.

After a while, Thor rolled to his side, propped himself up on one elbow. “Um, Hulk…” he began, frowning a little. “You remember what you wanted to do, last night?”

“Hulk sorry,” Hulk said immediately, blushing greenly. 

“It’s okay—you don’t have to be sorry,” Thor assured him. “Actually,” he took a deep breath, looked up at Hulk hopefully. “I was thinking, if you still wanted to, we could…try that?” 

It took Hulk a minute to catch on. He blinked, and then his whole expression changed. “Really?!?” he was stone-still for a split second, then lunged down towards Thor on the bed. 

Thor yelped and dodged out of the way, just barely evading what had been, for all intents and purposes, a pounce. His heart was instantly beating faster—he hadn’t imagined the Hulk could move that quick. “Wait wait _wait!_ ” he exclaimed, holding up both hands in the universal pose for keeping a beast at bay. “We’re not doing anything unless you stay calm.”

“Calm, calm,” Hulk repeated, scowling. “Okay. Hulk calm.”

“Good,” Thor said, forcing himself to relax. It was just the Hulk, after all—his friend, his _good_ friend who hadn’t killed him in the arena and who had held him close all night long. Hulk wasn’t an animal, and Thor thought he could handle him—or at least, he thought he wanted to give it a go. 

He wondered briefly if this might be a huge, like _really huge,_ mistake, then wondered if maybe he’d been exposed to some kind of drug that was turning him on—he didn’t think he had been, but based on what he’d seen of Sakaar so far, he supposed it was possible. Maybe some of whatever the Grandmaster had been doping Loki with had gotten to Thor by osmosis (ughk). More likely, but almost no less gross, it had to do with how Loki’d screwed around in Thor’s brain—ever since that critical moment on the other side of the planet, Thor had felt like a little light inside him had been burnt out. Whatever its glow had been, he already missed it, and Hulk seemed to radiate something close enough to it. Something worth trying to share, if it was offered. 

Sensing Thor’s hesitation, Hulk furrowed his brow, remembering a troubling fact. “Last time, Thor said no…”

“Yeah, well, people say ‘no’ to a lot of things, and yet the universe carries on,” Thor said, his tone very slightly bitter. 

Hulk wasn’t convinced. “That sounds bad,” he judged, wise beyond his brawn. 

Thor took a breath. “Look, I’ll be honest, you’re the only person on this planet I can count on for any support right now, and, I had a pretty rough day. My brother made me do something I didn’t really want to do, something I didn’t even know _how_ to do, which is kind of disturbing, and, now, you’re making me feel good and I want to do something that I _do_ want to do. Something--physical.” Almost all his muscles tensed involuntarily at that last word, anticipating pure exertion. 

“Fighting,” Hulk recommended. “Do fighting.”

“I don’t want to do any fighting,” Thor declared. “That would make me feel worse, not better.”

“Fight your brother,” Hulk suggested, once again keenly on point. 

Thor clenched his teeth, upset. “I don’t want to do _anything_ with my brother.” 

“But…” Hulk still seemed concerned. “Thor does want, to do… with Hulk?”

“If Hulk wants to with Thor,” Thor replied. 

“Yes,” Hulk nodded, his expression softening. He trailed his eyes over Thor’s body, his face brightening again in a neon-lime blush. “But… how?” Hulk asked. 

_How._ Good question—and also a repeat question from the previous night, Thor noted. Clearly the Hulk had virtually no experience, and was genuinely seeking instruction. Committing to being a good teacher in these matters was almost as daunting as just resolving to go along with whatever was thrown at him. Thor made a couple ‘not sure’ wobbles with his head. “Well, I think we can rule out a couple of things, obviously.” 

Hulk sighed and looked away. “Right. Thor too small,” he acknowledged sadly. 

Thor shook his head, finally deciding to accept the Hulk’s perspective on that issue. “How about this,” he proposed. “You, lay down on your back...” 

Hulk was more than willing to comply. 

“…and I’ll, do this.” Thor climbed on top of him, eased down to straddle him, in just the right place—

The Hulk’s face was priceless, an expression of total shock, like he couldn’t believe this was happening. His hands automatically clamped down on Thor’s thighs, and then they _both_ looked surprised—Hulk’s wide palms fit so perfectly around Thor’s quadriceps. 

Hulk’s face fractured with worry, thinking maybe he’d already done something out of bounds, but Thor’s legs felt so strong he really didn’t want to let go. “This okay?” he asked, snugging his grip a little, his thumbs digging in a little along the insides…

“Wow, yes,” Thor encouraged, having never felt anything quite so provocative as those incredible hands squeezing his thighs. The thought that those hands _could_ easily yank his legs right out of their sockets, _but wouldn’t,_ was also highly thrilling. “Now, you just hold on to me, there, and let me…”

Thor rocked against him, and Hulk’s eyes nearly rolled back in his head. “Easy, easy…” Thor coached him. “Just hang on, let me do this…” he moved again, hard and slow.

Hulk’s chest trembled, looked like it might burst. “…Breathe,” Thor reminded him kindly. He waited until Hulk took a big shuddering gasp for him—and then Thor went to work. 

At first it was difficult to tell whether Hulk loved it or hated it—understandable, since it was all so new to him, having somebody create that much friction for him, somebody he could pull and push against himself that gave and resisted alternatingly, in such a complementary way. In the swirl of emotions evoked by this previously unimagined experience, one feeling outshone the rest: Hulk was totally, completely in awe of Thor. 

Thor saw that awe in the Hulk’s eyes—saw it and felt undeserving. It seemed the past few years had been, for Hulk, very affirming—building up his confidence, building up his self-esteem. Hulk had no reason to question his own greatness, on Sakaar. He was the Beloved Champion. And so to see, in his eyes, a willingness to hold Thor in even higher esteem, a look of rare devotion that seemed to say ‘Thor is the best’—

“Thor is the best,” Hulk blurted awkwardly, proving Thor’s suspicions had been on track. 

“No, Hulk’s the best,” Thor huffed fondly, a little out of breath.

“Thor likes Hulk—!” it was both a question and a realization, a statement of astonishment and conviction. 

“I like you—very—much!” Thor panted, proving it for all he was worth. 

***

…And things worked out, eventually, for both of them--though they both felt a little bit beaten up by the end (in a good way, definitely). 

There had been some yelling, a good deal of sweating, swearing, some overturned furniture--but also a lot of petting, hugging, and a little bit of crying, which Thor had assured Hulk was all perfectly okay. There may have been a frantic repetition of the word 'friend', possibly giving that word a connotation in Thor's mind that would be difficult to shake. 

Whatever clothes they’d been wearing, they’d lost along the way in the need for skin-on-skin contact, which was of course better than anything else. And Thor had never encountered anyone with skin like the Hulk’s: it was just. _So. Hard._ Then again, Thor had never encountered anyone with _anything_ like the Hulk’s. 

All told, it had been freaking fantastic. Thor was pretty sure he'd bitten through something, somewhere, at one point, though honestly he wasn't sure what (leather??)--And there was a conspicuously Thor-shaped indentation in one of the walls, but, really that was the wall's fault; it had clearly been made of a far-too-malleable material. 

Thor had time to dwell on all this now, lying on his back on the floor where they’d both ended up. Hulk was still catching his breath, sprawled limply beside him, a couple of those perfectly-okay tears still glistening at the corners of his eyes.

Of course Thor understood how ridiculous this all was, bedding (and flooring) the Hulk, but it was far from the worst thing he’d ever done for pleasure. And for all its absurdity, the whole experience had been kind of…sweet. Hulk had been adorably eager-to-please, and just _adorable_ in general, and Thor had meant it when he said he liked him—he more than liked him, he _desired_ him. 

The unconscionable size difference, Thor recognized now, was an unexpected turn-on. Like, next to the Hulk, Thor was just _tiny_ \--it just wasn’t right! He'd never had a chance to appreciate before just how fun it was to be the smaller partner. Thor groaned and dropped his arm over his face, realizing he was probably ruined forever. 

“…Thor okay?” Hulk asked softly, in response to the funny sound Thor had made.

“Yep,” Thor sighed, as his brain was thinking: _totally ruined Forever!_ Thor flopped his other hand over to Hulk’s arm and patted it. “I’m great. You?”

“Good,” Hulk grunted, having finally recovered his breath. “…Sleepy.”

“Mmm.” Thor was not the least bit surprised. “We’ll get cleaned up and go to sleep.”

“…Okay,” Hulk mumbled dreamily. 

They rested side-by-side for a few more minutes, until Thor took the initiative to sit up and find some towels or something so they could drag themselves back into the bed like somewhat civilized people. 

Hulk let out a huge breath as he settled into the space beside his friend, pulling the covers up over them both. “Hulk was right,” he mumbled happily, nestling his face into his pillows. 

“What’s that?” Thor asked over his shoulder, already curled up on his side. 

“Thor really special, to Hulk.” 

A smile found its way to Thor’s face. “Thanks Hulk. You’re special to me, too.”

They drifted swiftly off to sleep, each thinking happy thoughts, which were unfortunately quite incompatible: Thor thought how great it was that Hulk would now, certainly, be willing to help him escape and come with him to Asgard, while Hulk thought how great it was that Thor would now, certainly, be willing to remain forever with him on Sakaar. 

But at least they both felt happy, cherished and content, and their opposing hopes for the future would ultimately work out for the best—although there would be some painful consequences for the Hulk along the way. 

It all started the following morning: 

Thor had a certain spring in his step, the kind that comes from waking up on the right side of the bed, with the right person behind you. And Hulk had the newfound swagger of a youngster in a Serious Relationship. They both felt new, bouncy—maybe even optimistic. 

After breakfast, Hulk summoned Scrapper 142 to his quarters, as Thor had asked him to do. He was delighted to see her, even more than usual. Hulk was proud of himself for being right about his feelings for Thor, and hoped that Angry Girl could tell how accomplished, how mature he was now—though he didn’t know how to put any of that into words. When Angry Girl didn’t immediately congratulate Hulk on the important development in his life, he didn’t think much of it—and when it was time to let Thor talk to her about his awful former home, Hulk didn’t pay much attention. Thor seemed so much different, talking to Angry Girl, than when he was talking to Hulk, but that was fine…after all, Thor didn’t like Angry Girl the way he liked Hulk. 

Hulk found it easy, almost pleasant, to tune out the Asgardians’ conversation, ignore their words. He was feeling fairly smug, and so totally assured of his bond with Thor and the permanence of their relationship, and didn’t want to think about strange unknowns such as ‘Odin’ or ‘Valkyrie’. 

When Thor managed to get the obedience disk off his neck, Hulk thought that was great—he approved whole-heartedly of Thor’s decision to embrace life on Sakaar. Obviously Thor didn’t need an obedience disk anymore, because he wasn’t going to try to escape anymore.

And that’s why, when Thor jumped out the window, it was one of the most devastating moments of Hulk’s life. 

“Friend Stay!” Hulk called after him, confused, shocked, and too late.

Hulk felt a sharp, piercing pain—abandonment, betrayal, despair—he couldn’t believe Thor would leave him, leave him just like that, after everything they’d shared, everything they’d said!!

Anger roared through his veins, dark and hot. There was only one thought in his mind now: 

_FRIEND STAY._

Hulk jumped out the window too, determined to retrieve the one thing he’d been sure was his. 

Thor made it to the Quinjet, the Hulk somewhere on his trail, and flailed for a minute trying to get it started up— _damn you, Stark!_

The Hulk found him, ripping apart the Quinjet’s hatch. “ _Friend Stay!_ ”

“No no no!” Thor said, as the Hulk demolished the hull of the little craft, trying to reach him. 

“ _Stay!_ ” 

“Stop, Stop breaking everything!” Thor pleaded. Of course this was all his fault, he was already realizing—he hadn’t explained any of this to the Hulk, so the Hulk had no idea that Thor had planned to fly the Quinjet back up to the Hulk’s room to collect him, before taking off for Asgard. 

“Don’t go!” roared the Hulk, fearing, hating that Thor would leave him behind. And in that moment, in the agony of his perceived betrayal, something happened in the Quinjet that pushed another wave of horrible thoughts into the Hulk’s traumatized mind: 

A screen flashed on, and a message played, image and audio of a person—a special person—a special person that Hulk had completely forgotten about—a special person who was not Thor?! 

“Nice work big guy…” said the video recording of Natasha Romanoff. 

Her voice—her face—Hulk was remembering things, suddenly, remembering feelings that might not have been his own. What had he done to her? He’d _failed,_ he felt certain. Failed her. But what had SHE done, to him? Something bad, something painful—but, he loved her! And if he loved her, if she was his special person, then what about Thor? Was all of that, with Thor, had that been invalid? Had it been _wrong?_ Hulk had been furious at Thor for betraying him, but what if Hulk was the one who had betrayed Natasha? 

A maelstrom of confusion, guilt and fear took the Hulk by force and dragged him towards oblivion. Even though he knew what this was, even though he cried out to his other self, “ _No! No, Banner!_ ” …Hulk couldn’t stop it from happening. 

Somewhere in the overlap, in the worst split-seconds of duality, Hulk heard himself saying ‘No’, and remembered: _people say ‘no’ to a lot of things, and yet the universe carries on…_

The Hulk was gone. 

And in the middle of a wrecked jet on an alien planet, Bruce Banner woke up.


	17. Seductive GOD of Thunder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because, because, because, the deleted scene that came out like yesterday, where Banner just wants a hug, and stands there with his arms open, and Thor just doesn't catch on, and so Banner jumps on him and he's tiny and adorable and then they're so close and Thor literally pets his face and whyyyyyyyyyyy aren't more people shipping this, it is the best thing on earth.... enjoy! :D

Bruce thrashed, gasped, choked on the indescribable agony of all his cells reverting. Confusion, fear and pain rattled his mind and for a few seconds he was lost in the sensation, the emotion of it all. And he was vulnerable—this was always the first thing he knew. 

He heard a man’s voice, was dimly aware of someone approaching—before his brain could organize his body to flee he felt a hand on his shoulder—he’d been caught! He cried out in terror, jerking away from whatever dim shadow had grabbed him. 

“Sun’s going down, sun’s going down,” said the man, crouching beside him and making no attempt to grab him again. Those words— _the lullaby!_ —Bruce remembered. Memories were coming back quicker now, the flames in his brain receding. “That’s it, breathe,” the man murmured, sounding familiar now, in a friendly way. “I won’t hurt you.” 

“Oh—” Bruce put his hand to his head, pressing at the remnants of pain that lingered there. His senses seemed to be working properly again; he matched the voice to the size and shape and face of the speaker and recognized his fellow Avenger. “…Thor?” 

“Yeah,” Thor confirmed, smiling with his eyes. 

A surge of weird emotions shot through Bruce’s entire body, knowing that Thor was there with him. It was sort of like relief, except relief usually felt like a pool of calm water and whatever this feeling was, it was more like sugar mixed with static electricity, something that had too much potential energy for its own good.

He glanced at Thor, feeling a little bit wild. Thor looked…wow, he looked like the most beautiful thing Bruce had ever seen?! That couldn’t be right. No. Thor looked, so, _different,_ his brain sorted out at last. Thor looked different. 

“What happened to your hair?” Bruce wondered aloud. 

“Some creepy old man cut it off,” Thor explained, in a way that made it seem unimportant.

“It looks good,” Bruce blurted out, simultaneously realizing that _all_ of Thor looked good, weirdly much more than usual. In fact, he looked so good, Bruce kind of just wanted to grab onto him to make sure he was real—but surely that was crazy, and Bruce shook the impulse aside as a hundred questions bloomed in his mind. “Where are we?—how’s Nat?” For some reason, even the mention of her name filled him with guilt, and a split-second of something darker, almost grief.

Thor was taken aback, suddenly recalling that Banner and Natasha had been, quite possibly, romantically involved. “Uh—Nat’s good, I’m sure.” 

“What about Sokovia—the city, Sokovia--did we save it?”

Thor shook his head a little at the barrage of questions. “Banner, listen… Sokovia, Ultron. That was two years ago.”

“What are you saying? I’ve been Hulk for two years?”

Thor nodded. “I’m afraid so.” 

_Two years!_ This was a lot to take in. That was by far the longest time that Hulk had ever been loose in the world. What had been the consequences? How many people had been killed in the wreckage? 

Bruce took stock of his situation as the possibilities and the unknowns swirled in his head. He became aware of some heavy necklaces of beads draped around his neck, and lifted them off. “…What the hell happened?” he asked Thor, wide-eyed. 

Before Thor could explain, Bruce gathered up the fabric of Hulk’s bedsheet-sized skirt around his waist and shuffled over to the computer to examine the ship’s log. What he saw on the recording made him begin to suspect that he might be very, very far away from home. Then a towering digital projection sizzled to life, superimposed on a skyscraper outside, and Bruce received a torrent of information: the person in the projection ‘runs the place’, and Hulk lived in his house, according to Thor. Also according to Thor, Hulk had recently been bested by Thor in a fight, which sounded like it might not be the whole story, and finally, according to the projection, the running-the-place person’s Champion was missing, and had been stolen away by “that criminally seductive Lord of Thunder,” who, presumably, was Thor. 

“Seductive _God_ of Thunder,” Thor snarled at the projection, irritated. 

Bruce felt woozy, his brain going in circles, Thor’s voice sending little chemical/electrical flashes through all his nerves. In a split second he went through it all again: the person running the place knew Thor somehow, and blamed Thor for stealing his Champion. Also Hulk had lived in that person’s house. And there had been a fight between Hulk and Thor. And, Thor was criminally seductive. It was all adding up—he still couldn’t come up with a coherent narrative but his brain was starting to put two and two together, and suddenly it seemed obvious that the person running the place must know the Hulk, and maybe the Hulk was the Champion. And Thor—wow, _Thor_ —Bruce found himself looking at the self-proclaimed ‘seductive God of Thunder’ with hungry eyes. 

What the hell was this reaction Bruce was having? The rising feelings of fear and anxiety he could totally understand, but the overwhelming _arousal_ was completely unexpected. “Oh no,” he said, as he started to wonder if he was losing control of his body already, so soon after regaining it. His voice wavered. “This is bad. This is really, really bad. Thor, I think I’m freaking out.” 

“No no no, don’t freak out,” Thor urged. “You’re okay. Put these on.” He pushed a bundle of clothes into Bruce’s arms. 

“These are Tony’s clothes,” Bruce realized. A new thought occurred to him. “Is Tony here?”

“No, he’s not here,” Thor said. “Listen-just stay calm, okay? The sun’s going down, the sun’s getting real low. Sun’s going down—” 

The lullaby, right. All the Avengers had been briefed on the lullaby. Bruce made a weak, crazed noise and attempted to focus on the task at hand: getting dressed. Pretty much everyone had seen him naked at some point thanks to the variously inconvenient circumstances of his transformations, and he knew there was no hope of avoiding Thor seeing him naked now. Shaking out the pair of pants from the bundle of clothes, he dropped the oversized skirt that he’d been holding around his waist. 

Thor had unfortunately been looking right at him as he did this, and was presented with another image to be instantly seared into his brain. “Wa—woah,” Thor exclaimed, drawing back. It was the second time that day that Thor had had that exact reaction: the first had been upon seeing Valkyrie chug a gallon of liquor in about two seconds. He was impressed, but also aware that what he was seeing likely carried a grave significance that Thor was ill-equipped to address. 

“Is that a normal reaction, when you change back?” Thor couldn’t help but ask. 

“Normal reaction?! Ha,” Bruce huffed awkwardly, hopping ridiculously as he stuck his legs into the pants. “I am so sorry, but no, this is not a normal reaction--I have no idea what’s going on with me but—ugh—” he managed to tug the pants up over his hips, stuffing his inappropriately aroused anatomy down one of the pantlegs. “This is a really bad joke, but, I had no idea it would be this difficult to get into Tony’s pants.” He winced as he zipped up the zipper. 

“I’m sure for most people, it wouldn’t be,” Thor said, still looking slightly shocked. 

Bruce half-laughed, and began pulling the shirt on over his head. “Thor, I don’t know how to tell you this, but, I’m feeling pretty weird about you right now, I can’t explain it—but I think…” he looked guiltily, desperately at Thor. “…I think Hulk wanted to bone you.”

Thor’s mouth fell open a little. “Uh—” 

Bruce looked away, shaking his head, hands coming up to cover his face. “Ohmygod—I don’t know what I’m saying—I can’t believe I just said that—forget about it, please forget I said that. Just another bad joke. And I’ve gotta be wrong—going crazy or something.” He busied himself by putting on Tony’s jacket.

“No, Banner, no—you’re right,” Thor told him, helpfully patting Bruce’s shoulder. 

“WH—What?!” Bruce’s voice trembled. 

“Yeah—it’s just weird because Hulk didn’t think you’d feel the same way.”

Bruce blinked at him, dumbfounded. “Wait so—are you saying the Hulk is actually gay for you now??” 

Thor glanced off to one side, and then nodded. “…Yes,” he said simply, as if answering the world’s easiest question. Clearly this was not a big deal, as far as Thor was concerned, this was totally fine—but not so for Banner. 

“Ohmygod ohmygod,” Bruce muttered, sinking towards the floor. “I gotta sit down—”

Thor grabbed him by the elbow and hauled him back up to his feet. “Not now, we have to get out of here, someone must’ve seen us come this way and they’ll be looking for us any minute now.” 

Bruce tore himself away and sat down on the deck of the Quinjet, drawing his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. “I need a minute, okay?! This is a big deal, don’t you understand? I didn’t even know Hulk had these types of feelings, I swear, I didn’t know he was _capable_ —” 

Now Thor scowled, getting impatient. “He’s perfectly capable. Just because he’s large and green doesn’t mean he isn’t a person with perfectly normal feelings—” 

“Don’t you DARE say the word ‘normal’ to me, _THOR_ ,” Bruce yelled in distress. “Nothing about the Hulk, or _you_ , or me, or anything here is ‘normal’, okay? You, you’re a, a, freaking alien deity or something and I am pretty sure I know the Hulk better than you do and I am telling you, _sexual attraction_ is not part of his operating system, all right? It just isn’t!” 

Thor bristled, and knew he shouldn’t say it, but said it anyway: “Well it certainly was last night.” 

“What happened last night?!?” Banner asked, before thinking about whether or not he really wanted to know. 

Thor gave him a look, scrunching up his face as if debating how much to reveal. “ _Mmm_ ,” Thor said, his tone inscrutable and unmistakable all at once.

Bruce’s eyes darkened, an expression of ‘no’ plastering his features, answered by a little ‘mm-hmm’ head nod from Thor, accompanied by a sort of a half-smile that seemed to say, ‘oh yeah’. 

“No, ohmygod what, whaaat—” Bruce groaned and looked faintly green, and Thor automatically crouched down beside him to try his best to keep him calm. “Has Hulk been—what’s he been doing here? Breeding? Has somebody been making him--” 

“Nothing like that,” Thor assured him. “Nobody’s been breeding him as far as I know. Last night was, um, it was Hulk’s first time?” Thor’s voice went up, not sure that he should be sharing that info.

“…Hulk’s first time was with Thor, God of Thunder,” Bruce muttered, almost to himself. 

“…Yes,” Thor said, once again in simple acknowledgement. 

“ _How could you?!_ ” Bruce exploded, seemingly out of nowhere. “What is _wrong_ with you? Hulk isn’t some, some novelty sex creature for you to—ugh—gross!” he dragged his hands down his face, shaking. “I can’t believe you would do that to him, you’re so, that’s so—it’s just so _wrong!_ ” 

The amount of disgust that Banner was now projecting in Thor’s direction was decidedly unhealthy, and Thor had no idea how to fix it. “Banner…whatever you’re imagining, I think you should know, Hulk’s made a life for himself here. He’s had to kill a lot of people, but, he’s got a lot more self-confidence, I think and, he’s honored and appreciated and, he’s changed—grown—for the better, really. He’s not just some stupid, innocent—” 

“Well not anymore he’s not,” Bruce interrupted, voice loud. “Not after you got your alien sex-god hands on him, you inhuman…freak!” 

Thor cocked his head, wondering now if he was supposed to feel personally offended. Somehow the Hulk had been much better at provoking him with name-calling. Coming from Banner, insults were much easier to dismiss. “Hold on, what’s so wrong about the Hulk choosing _me_?” Thor asked. “I’d think you’d be glad it was me, instead of anyone else. For one thing, anyone else might have been injured.” 

Bruce’s face went pale at a sudden thought, concern briefly overriding any other emotion. “ohmygod Thor, were you injured?” Bruce asked in a rush. 

“I’m totally fine, and so was Hulk,” Thor insisted, disturbed by the obviously dark train of Bruce’s thoughts. “It was actually one of the best—”

“ _Augh!_ Stop!! Do not tell me about it!” Bruce’s eyes were wide, pleading. “God, Thor, how do you not get this?? He’s part of me, he’s like, somewhere inside me, right? And I had no idea he was interested in sex, at all! So this is kind of horrifying for me, understand? I basically just found out you had sex with me without me even knowing it! It’s a big deal—I can’t just take this lightly--I’m going to have to process this, okay?”

Thor was taken aback. He had not thought of it that way at all. For his part, he had honestly thought of the Hulk as a separate person, and hadn’t considered Banner’s feelings at all. 

“…I’m sorry,” Thor said solemnly after a beat, a tinge of sadness in his voice. He wasn’t totally convinced that an apology was required, but, he also couldn’t think of anything else to say. 

“Good, you should be,” Bruce declared, finally calming down, faced with the puppy-dog eyes he was getting from Thor. “And thank you for respecting how I feel about this.” 

“Which is… angry,” Thor guessed, not even a hint of irony in his tone. 

Bruce looked up at him. Thor was right there, so close. “Yeah,” Bruce said, taking a deep breath. A single second passed—and then he reached for Thor. He couldn’t help himself. 

Every protective instinct in the universe surfaced within Thor as Bruce buried his head against Thor’s chest, and they wrapped their arms around each other, hunched together on the deck of the Quinjet. There was no question that Thor was going to take care of Banner now until he could get the Hulk to come back. 

As for Bruce, he’d found something important, in the middle of all this confusion and stress— _Thor understood_. Was it possible? It felt like they were communicating, somehow, on some level, and Thor really was sorry, and respected Bruce’s anger. That moment of solidarity was the best, most affirming gift Thor could have given him, and Bruce was soaking it up, reveling in it. His heart pounded, warmth and need surging through him. If Thor let Bruce hold on to him for any longer, Bruce thought he might melt like butter in the sun. “We—we should go, right?” Bruce asked in a shaky voice. 

“Yes we should,” Thor confirmed, pulling Bruce to his feet. “Stay close.” 

Trusting himself to Thor’s care, Bruce allowed himself to be shepherded out into the streets.


	18. When Loki met Valkyrie (she kicked his ass)

As Bruce and Thor ventured out into the streets, Loki was summoned by the Grandmaster. The God of Mischief had worked all night, for the third night in a row, and was beginning to feel the effects— _Gods,_ he could use some sleep—but he dared not rest, not until he was sure that he had the components in place to end the Grandmaster’s reign.

The first thing Loki had done after returning Thor to the Hulk’s quarters had been to discreetly sell off a battery or two and deposit five million units in fulfillment of Thor’s mandatory earnings for the week. He knew the Grandmaster would be impressed that Loki had managed to exceed the weekly goal in just one day. 

In the midst of that night’s clandestine transactions with a minor trash-boss mobster, Loki had accidentally discovered the most likely scenario for Thor’s next big fight: apparently the “Lord of Thunder” had showed exceptional stoicism during the public display; the stone-faced illusion that Loki’d tasked for that event had provoked the wrath of a particular tribe of scrappers, who were known for fighting with gigantic flamethrowers mounted on their shoulders. Loki wasn’t certain how easy it would be for them to burn Thor to death, but being immolated was guaranteed to be painful even if it wasn’t fatal. 

These ‘Fireroaches’, as they were known, were now petitioning to challenge Thor in the arena. Word on the street was that they would get their wish, as their population needed culling anyway, and battle in the arena would bring money and fame to their survivors. Thor would face a whole family of Fireroaches—men, women, and children, and would have to kill them all. Somehow Loki knew that wouldn’t go well. 

The fight would take place next week, which posed a complication for Loki’s larger goals: there was no way he’d be ready to take over Sakaar by then, so he had three options: he could try to cancel, delay, or otherwise get Thor out of the upcoming fight, convince/manipulate Thor to win the fight, or change/accelerate his other plans.

Loki would have to work twice as fast if he was going to rescue his brother, which at this point he was fully committed to doing. Naturally they’d need a ship, which Loki could purchase easily now that he was sitting on a stockpile of lucrative merchandise—but the very best ships weren’t for sale, they were the Grandmaster’s own vessels, and Loki decided he would definitely be stealing one of them. 

It took him less than a minute to lift the codes to the Grandmaster’s garage from an unsuspecting slave. That minor task complete, Loki circled back to plotting the final ruination of Sakaar. It wouldn’t be enough to merely abduct Thor and run away—no, escape alone would never be enough. Loki hadn’t ever wanted to blow up an entire planet before, but when it came to Sakaar he was sorely tempted. Thor wouldn’t approve, of course, so Loki would have to be content with simply closing off all the wormholes, leaving Sakaar to its fate. The unfortunate inhabitants would have a decent chance at survival, so long as they stopped butchering each other in gladiator matches long enough to repair the various spacecraft that lay derelict in their midst. 

Loki was certain that if he could catalyze a large enough magical force, he could blast Sakaar out of its peculiar time-bubble and back into linear temporal stability. Rupturing the Grandmaster’s hold on the planet would have the effect, Loki hoped, of causing billions of years to catch up with the Grandmaster all at once. Maybe it would be enough to kill him, but that wasn’t exactly Loki’s intent—he just wanted to see the powerful Grandmaster become power _less,_ that was all. It was going to be so delightful to strip away his influence over his people, his city, his planet…his control over time itself. Loki was compelled to dismantle it all—and if the Grandmaster died as a result, Loki wouldn’t much mind. 

So, while Thor and Hulk were arguing like children and then later quite epically making up like adults, Loki was busy testing out exactly what it would take to close every wormhole on Sakaar and render the Grandmaster instantly _older_ than your average blue dwarf star. When Thor had mistaken the batches of batteries for explosives he hadn’t been too far off the mark; it was fairly simple to convert a cannister of lightning into a spectacular bomb, especially if you had on hand, say, a kind of magical metal that had been forged to focus exactly that kind of power—of which Loki just so happened to have the very best collection. 

By mid-morning, it was a tired but still-firing-on-all-cylinders God of Mischief who was summoned to appear before the Grandmaster. He learned the news on the way, the reason the Grandmaster was calling him: the property known as ‘Thor’ had disabled his obedience disk and escaped from the Hulk’s suite, and, by some accounts, had convinced the Hulk to go with him. Loki thought fast, absorbing this ridiculous development. He saw that Scrapper 142 had been summoned as well, and instinctively knew she was complicit in Thor’s escape—Thor’s obedience disk had been one of hers; her controller must have removed it.

Loki and the Scrapper ignored each other as they strode into the Grandmaster’s foyer practically in unison, each pretending to be less annoyed than the other at being obliged to report. 

Beneath the concerned and empathetic façade he now presented to his eccentric benefactor, Loki flared in frustration at the thought of Thor mindlessly bashing all Loki’s hard work to bits. If Thor had just stayed put for a couple more days, Loki’s plan to get them out of there would have worked! 

Maybe it wasn’t too late. Just a little more time and Loki could probably implode at least half of the wormholes with what he’d already rigged—it wouldn’t be everything but it’d be enough to weaken the Grandmaster, surely—and there was also the other plan, the one where Loki would lure the Grandmaster into that disturbing ‘back room’ and trap him there in a time loop—a much riskier plan, as it relied on the good graces of one Doctor Strange, and the get-out-of-jail-free card that he’d granted to Loki during their brief meeting. There was a time when perhaps that riskier, more devious plan would have been more appealing, but Loki was still disgusted by how _masterfully_ the Grandmaster had stripped him to his core and if he could avoid the insidious pull of that room, he would. 

The Grandmaster was agitated now, twitchy, almost a distracted wreck. _Good._ Loki calmly assured him that he could retrieve his brother and the Beloved Champion within twelve hours. 

“I can do it in two,” said Scrapper 142, confident, bored, belligerent—and with that statement, Loki knew his plans were about to go up in smoke. He repressed the urge to kill her where she stood, imagined hurling her into a volcano, knew he would need to find a very special time and place to curse her name for eternity. 

“I can do it in one,” he was forced to counter, knowing how weak it sounded, how it undermined his status. The cocky scrapper would pay for this, Loki swore. 

So now it was a race, between Loki and this girl with her casual disdain and her familiar aura and her stench of alcohol—she was an obstacle, and Loki would have her removed. 

They fought, blades slick and flashing, wickedly fast--and then she turned out to be a _Valkyrie_ —of all things, another Asgardian marooned on this trash-heap of a world. The universe truly excelled at these kinds of coincidences, but Valkyrie or not, Loki was certain he could seize her mind. 

He tried it, and tore open her memories as if he’d found them in a box with his name on it. She had no defense against him, none whatsoever. Her deepest thoughts were his for the sampling. 

And there they were—there were the Valkyries of legend at the peak of their glory, their magnificent winged horses, their final stand against Hela. Loki was astonished by the detail, the depth of these memories. Thor’s mind was a coloring book full of scribbles compared to this; the fallen Valkyrie’s memories were practically a Baroque art museum, and Loki was eager to browse the gallery. For one thing he wouldn’t mind another look at those resplendent horses.

But then the emotions caught up with the images, so long repressed, and took Loki by surprise. 

_He felt it_ —the eternal burning rage and despair of impotence. It flooded her mind, her memories, her entire being, drowning everything in its path. It was the rage of not being able to do anything, not being able to fight back, not being able to stop the horrible thing that was happening right in front of her. It was all-consuming, relentless. A hundred thousand lifetimes would not be enough to outlive it. 

Loki had brushed up against something that felt like that once before, and it had left an impression. Startled to encounter such a similar feeling here, he drew back too quickly—all the way out, to his immediate regret. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second, and he barely even registered the flash of her fist. 

With Loki out cold, slumped on the floor, Valkyrie stood over him and trembled. She regained control of her emotions, but the memories _wouldn’t go away._ Loki’d dredged them up from the bottom of an ocean inside her and she didn’t know how to sink them back down. “ _Fuck you,_ ” she whispered down at the demigod who was now at her mercy. 

She studied his features, his chin, his jaw, his eyelashes. His face seemed too gentle like this, the shape of his mouth too soft. He’d trespassed into her soul. He’d robbed a grave, dragged its corpses out. 

There was no sound, for once. The hallway was preternaturally silent. There was no music tinkling up from the casino, no whir or beep of robots or computers, no humming whine of engines. Just waiting, stretching silence. But in her head she heard the screams. 

Her foot lashed out, hard. Loki’s unconscious body offered no resistance, no complaint. She kicked him again, harder, foot striking like a viper. He was already wedged against the wall so she leaned over him, braced her forearms against the wall, her hands balled into fists. Hunching her shoulders, she stared down, eyes dark and face slack. And she kicked him, _kicked him_ until she clenched her teeth and scrunched her eyes shut, until she was grunting from the effort, until drops of sweat fell from her face and trickled down her spine.

At last she realized she’d been holding her breath, and stopped short and heaved for air, gradually regaining her composure. She’d really let go for a minute there, and had wanted to kick the crumpled god to death. Now she realized that killing him that way would take hours—Asgardians, after all, were notoriously hard to perish, and she didn't have time--she had to go find Hulk and Thor. 

_Thor._ Her thoughts froze on him for a minute, remembering what he’d told her. Hela was back. Suddenly the way forward was clear: it was Hela she needed to kill, not Loki. After all these years, killing Hela might bring a little bit of closure, a little bit of justice. Back then, she hadn’t been able to do anything, hadn’t been able to fight back. But now, she had to try. 

She gave Loki’s body one last kick, just because, and then bent down to hoist him up and across the back of her shoulders. She stood, and carried Loki off as if he were no more than the carcass of some animal she’d hunted and gutted for dinner. 

Valkyrie brought her captive back to her apartment, used her foot to swipe away a pile of weapons, empty bottles and dirty clothes, and dropped Loki down onto the space she had cleared. She had just the thing for keeping him right where she put him: an enchanted chain. She retrieved it from a cupboard, ignoring the variously soiled items that clattered out when she opened the door.

Loki woke up, reluctantly, as the fallen Valkyrie was cinching a heavy chain around his chest. 

“ _Aah_ \--ow,” Loki winced. His entire torso felt bruised, and his stomach throbbed with sharp flames of pain. “…What did you do to me?” 

“Kicked you,” Valkyrie answered, voice flat. 

Loki took a breath, pain scrawling across his face. “What did you kick me with, _a Hulk?_ ”

Valkyrie smirked. “I kicked you a lot,” she said, wrapping the chain around him again. 

“You remind me of him, you know.” He kept his voice low. “You have a very similar—”

“What? Desire to kill you?” She tugged the chain around his waist, and he almost cried out. 

“That too,” Loki acknowledged, tipping his head. He took a quick look around the room. “…What now?”

Valkyrie pressed a glass to his lips, an inch of black liquid inside it. “Drink this.” 

Loki dodged away, an exaggeratedly apologetic look on his face. “You’ll forgive me if I’ve developed an aversion to offered drinks on this planet.”

“Grandmaster gave you one of his blue ones?” 

Loki nodded, glancing worriedly back and forth from her face to the drink in her hand. It looked like dirty oil. 

“At least that explains why I’m tempted to bend you over a table,” Valkyrie noted. 

“I _do_ thank you for your restraint,” Loki demurred, all sass. 

“Really not discouraging me, are you? With that tone of voice?” She loomed over him, assessing his level of interest. His icy eyes met hers, unafraid—maybe even amused. 

“…Would you prefer I beg you to try it instead?” Loki offered. 

“Ha,” Valkyrie scoffed. “Did he give you one of the purple ones?”

“What are the purple ones?” 

She smirked. “If you’d had one, you’d know.” She shoved the glass in his face. “Drink this or I’ll cram this whole glass down your throat.” 

Loki nodded, indicating he’d prefer the former option, and obediently sipped. With one quick motion Valkyrie dumped the whole dose into him as if forcibly administering a shot of alcohol and then slammed her hand over his mouth, holding his face shut until she was sure he’d swallowed. 

Loki gave her an injured, was-that-really-necessary look, shuddering as the pain in his stomach began to numb. He turned the taste over in his mouth, running his tongue against his teeth to try to scrape the flavor off of it: camphor and licorice. 

“Was that…something for the pain?” Loki wondered, though he knew it wasn’t likely.

Valkyrie rolled her eyes. “That was to keep you in those chains until I give you the antidote,” she explained. “Pain relief’s an unfortunate side effect.”

“Ah,” Loki gave her a little smile. “I see.” 

“So what’s the deal with your brother?” Valkyrie pried, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“Oh dear…do you have a table in mind for him, as well?” 

“None of your business,” Valkyrie sneered, a musical falseness in her voice. “Just answer the question.” 

Loki heaved his shoulders up and down in a long-suffering sigh. “You heard the Grandmaster; I’m adopted, it’s complicated, there’s a history…”

She rolled her eyes. “Doesn’t seem that complicated to me.” 

“Fine. He’s the only thing worth living for, and I kind of want to kill him all the time,” Loki admitted. “…is that _complicated_ enough for you?”

Valkyrie frowned and looked up, her expression indicating that yeah, she supposed it was. “Do you want to get him off this planet?” 

“Yes I do,” Loki stated, wondering if there’d been a little truth serum of some kind mixed in what she’d given him. 

“Good,” Valkyrie narrowed her eyes. “Wait here.” 

She spun on her heel, and set off to find the Hulk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok, I'm pretty proud of this one... what'd you guys think? :) :) :) Anybody shipping Loki/Val? I'm not, for the record, but it's not the worst ship out there.  
> In other news, there are just TWO DAYS left until I will possess my very own copy of Thor: Ragnarok, TWO DAYS until I will be able to watch it over and over and over...*drools*  
> If anybody wants to come over for a Ragnarok-rewatch sleepover party, just let me know, we can totally make that happen. <3


	19. Thor flips the script

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO Sorry it's been a few days; had to watch Ragnarok a couple times and totally geek out over the special features. Most of you will notice I have included my very favorite deleted scene in this chapter, the one where Banner hugs Thor saying "Let's get you home," all soft and adorable.  
> [ THIS ADORABLE HUG!!! ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YQRK_rCjS2I)  
> siiiiigh!!!! I love them, you guys. I love them.  
> Then, I had to get through the elevator scene. It was tough, but it had to be done. Bear with me.

Meanwhile, down in the city, Bruce Banner was having a difficult time dealing with being on a planet that was designed to stress him out. Only Thor’s presence at his side was keeping him sane—except it was also driving him crazy. He was on an alien planet, prompting questions about the gravity—the atmosphere—the sky! And he was surrounded by alien peoples—so many of them humanoid, each one a surprise—but overriding his panic and his millions of questions, there was Thor. 

Bruce had heard of attraction being likened to electricity and always thought that was off-putting. He figured the people who said that usually just meant the sensation was exciting, but to him it sounded painful. When it came to Thor, though, Bruce was at a loss for how else to describe it. Electricity: whenever they touched, it was like they completed a circuit, like they were powering something up. Bruce couldn’t get enough of it. An unfortunate side effect was that every time he met Thor’s eyes, he felt the need to adjust his uncomfortably tight trousers, which eventually Thor noticed and scolded him to stop doing. 

Thor guided his human friend through the streets, not minding at all as Banner clung to him, seeming to understand that physical touch was an important reassurance in the midst of the confusion, danger, and sensory overload of Sakaar. Figuring out what seemed to work best, Thor kept his hands on Banner’s shoulders, rubbing his back and repeating the words of the lullaby whenever Banner got an extra-wild look in his eyes. 

They found a minute to shelter in an alcove; Bruce on the verge of hyperventilating. Thor told Banner about his plan to go back to Asgard and fight Hela, with the Hulk’s help. Bruce was not on board; and once again he used the word “gross” in reference to the idea that Thor might want the Hulk. That bothered Thor, but of course he didn’t have time to unravel Bruce’s issues just then; the Grandmaster’s guards were already out in the city, hunting. 

Thor pulled a ragged blanket from a clothesline to use as a disguise, and made the mistake of questioning Bruce’s usefulness compared to the Hulk—after all, Bruce was expressing some darkly negative opinions about the Hulk, and it seemed to Thor that somebody ought to stick up for the green guy, especially as he wasn’t present to defend himself against Bruce’s apparent disgust. 

So Thor said the Hulk was powerful and useful, which seemed an honest enough thing to say, and not particularly inflammatory, but Bruce responded with all the fragility and indignant over-reaction of a teenaged girl spurned by her crush--and before Thor knew what was happening Banner was storming off into the streets. 

“You just called me useless!” Bruce exclaimed as Thor hurried after him, although that wasn’t exactly what Thor had said. “Go away!” 

Thor caught up to him and grabbed Banner’s wrist, but Banner pulled away from his grasp. “No. No. No—” Bruce protested. “It’s not going to work anyway.” 

“What?” Thor asked, squinting at him. 

“I swang all the way over to Hulk and got stuck there for two years!” Bruce half-yelled, looking desperately up at Thor’s trying-to-look-comforting face. “It didn’t matter if I was angry or not—I don’t have any control over it anymore!” 

Thor blinked at him a little, clearly struggling to follow whatever Bruce was striving to explain to him. 

“Then it swang to the Bruce zone,” Banner went on, gesturing with his hands. “And I’m stuck here now! Unless something major happens, I guess—” he looked off into the distance, brain short-circuiting a little as he attempted to envision the sort of calamity that would trigger the Hulk’s release. “like an intense—” he seemed to lose his train of thought, stuttering, and skipped ahead to his point. “Other than that, you got Banner. And you’re _stuck_ with me, _Thor!!_ ”

Thor opened and closed his mouth, absorbing what Banner was trying to tell him. He shook his head. “So… no Hulk,” he summarized, as if it were a particularly difficult concept to grasp. 

“Only Banner,” Bruce confirmed, to Thor’s dismay. Apparently Banner was every bit as recalcitrant as the Hulk on the issue of sharing his existence with his other self, something which now posed a huge inconvenience to Thor. 

Rather than argue, Thor turned away, mentally cursing himself for not getting the Hulk to agree to the plan before jumping out the window. If Banner wasn’t going to be able to turn into the Hulk, Thor’s whole gameplan for challenging Hela was pretty much dead in the water. Thor knocked his head against the wall a few times—if only he’d convinced the Hulk to go along!

“No, come on man,” Banner whined, distressed by Thor’s obvious frustration. “Now you’re making me feel bad!” 

Thor thumped his fist against a storage tank in the alley, frantically thinking of what he’d do next, without any hope of help from the Hulk. “I just got my life back,” Banner was saying. 

“Fine, good,” Thor was clearly distracted. 

“You should be happy for me!!” Banner insisted, and on impulse, he held his arms out for a hug. 

“I am, I am,” Thor told him, turning to face him again. Somehow he missed Bruce’s invitation/request for a hug. “I’m sorry, okay? Stay here, this is fine, it was never meant to be--” 

Bruce’s heart skipped a beat as he realized what this was, what was happening: Thor was awkwardly trying to excuse Bruce from the obligation to help, clearly respecting Bruce’s refusal/reluctance—anyone else might have gotten aggressive and demanded that Bruce participate in their plan. Certainly Tony or Steve or Nat wouldn’t have backed down, in the face of Bruce’s reluctance to play along—none of them would have dropped the issue until Bruce gave in and cooperated. But Thor was going to let him out of doing something he didn’t want to do, just like that?? No insistence, no threatening or guilt-tripping, no cost-benefit analysis or implication that Bruce was a huge disappointment and letting everybody down?? Bruce held his arms up higher, leaning in, needing more than ever to hug the god in front of him. “I’m leaving, I need to get home, so, you do your thing—” 

Bruce couldn’t take it anymore. He jumped at Thor, flinging his arms around him in an embrace, collapsing against his chest. “See you around,” said Thor, returning the hug but also clearly mistaking it as one meant as a goodbye—when in fact, it was more like the opposite. 

For Bruce, this hug meant something like, _you are amazing and I will never leave you thank you for being my friend_ —with a semi-conscious tinge of _I never want to take my hands off you or let you out of my sight._

“Let’s get you home,” Bruce murmured, probably slightly under the influence of the Hulk’s opinion that Thor’s home was with Hulk. 

“…What?” Thor was totally lost; he thought the whole point of Banner’s little tirade had been that Banner wasn’t going to help him. Bruce had left his hands firmly on Thor’s shoulders; rather than push him away, Thor wrapped his hands over Bruce’s wrists. 

“Your planet’s just been invaded,” Bruce recapped, voice much softer than before. Holding on to Thor’s shoulders was having a wondrous effect on him. _Electricity._ “You’ve got to fight a being.” 

“So… you’re coming?” Thor asked, clearly not expecting this. 

“Of course I am,” Bruce said gently. “This is what friends do; they help each other.” 

“…Great!” Thor could hardly believe this turn of luck—he’d thought he would have to go it alone, but now had an ally. He scrunched up his nose in delight. “Thank you,” he gruffed, looking pleased enough to pick Bruce right up off the ground and swing him around. 

This surge of positive energy from Thor went straight through Banner like a current, lighting him up like a halogen bulb. His hands tightened on Thor’s shoulders, wanting more of him somehow, needing him. A crazed look passed over Bruce’s face, which Thor couldn’t help but notice. 

“Are you feeling all right?” Thor wondered, peering at the gleam behind Banner’s eyes. 

Banner lurched towards him, pulling himself towards Thor’s mouth. “ _I feel great_ ,” he rumbled, voice roughening until it was practically the Hulk’s. Startled, Thor ducked backwards, and noticed a streak of green climbing the side of Bruce’s neck. 

“Hey-hey, okay…Shhh,” Thor tried to calm him, bringing a hand up to the side of Bruce’s face, as if he could brush the green away. Of course Thor did want Bruce to turn back into the Hulk eventually, but not in the middle of the street. The entire population of the planet was looking for him; if the big guy appeared, Thor was sure their escape attempt would be over. 

Fortunately Thor’s hand on the side of Bruce’s face did have a sort of a soothing effect—though it also made Bruce feel that much more connected to Thor, made his blood tingle at the possibility of more touching, more contact. 

The feeling was crazy, it was dangerous, it was totally new. Bruce had been in love before, and this wasn’t the same, not even close. Were these the Hulk’s emotions, bleeding through to Bruce’s consciousness, somehow? The thought that the Hulk might be able to control who Bruce was attracted to would have been extra-terrifying, except that Bruce was busy being simultaneously terrified and amazed by practically everything around him. 

They met a girl—she and Thor knew each other, somehow, and it kind of felt like Bruce knew her too. They followed her back to her apartment, where they discovered, of all people, Thor’s brother Loki—captured and wrapped in chains. 

“Hello, Bruce,” said Loki, much too fondly. 

Bruce tried to be even-keeled, and give the God of Mischief the benefit of the doubt, but quickly decided to minimize his exposure to Loki’s familiar but not-at-all comforting presence. He scuttled towards the kitchen, where, famished from his recent transformation, he stuffed his face with whatever looked edible as Thor and the girl talked about swords and wormholes. 

The team Thor had wanted so badly was finally coming together, as was their plan for escaping the planet. Bruce would go with the girl—he still hadn’t caught her name—while Thor would escort his brother down to steal one of the Grandmaster’s ships. Bruce didn’t like being separated from Thor, and didn’t like leaving him alone with Loki, but some deep instinct told him he could trust this strong and beautiful girl, and so he agreed to go along. 

“Ready?” Thor asked his brother. 

Loki shrugged, clanking his chains to remind them all that he was still a prisoner. 

“Right, the antidote,” the girl muttered, rummaging some little vial out of a cupboard. She stalked towards Loki menacingly, her gaze like a lion’s, until Loki flinched and leaned away from her. 

“I will drink it,” Loki said tersely. “You don’t have to—” but it was too late; the girl had already grabbed him by the jaw and fish-hooked two fingers inside his cheek, pouring the antidote into his mouth. Bruce winced at the murderous look Loki gave her, and winced again at the look she gave him back. The chains fell to the floor, and the plan was underway.

Apparently there was a revolution to foment. 

And, for Loki, an opportunity to get his plans for Sakaar back on track. 

He just had to secure Thor’s cooperation, just needed a tiny bit of help to get everything set up...

***

“Here’s the thing,” Loki admitted in the elevator. “I’m probably better off staying here on Sakaar.” 

_“No!,”_ Thor would gasp in response. _“Loki you have to come with us, you have to help us fight Hela, you’re so good at sneaking into Asgard, we need your help!”_

Then Loki would say, _“Brother I’d love to help you, but first I must destroy the Grandmaster, I cannot leave this planet until he’s been overthrown.”_

And then Thor would say, _“I won’t leave without you Loki; what will it take to destroy the Grandmaster? Whatever it takes, I’ll help you do it so we can leave this place together,”_

But instead of all that, Thor said: “That’s exactly what I was thinking.” 

It took Loki a minute to recalibrate; erasing the lines he’d been writing for Thor in his head. He turned his icy eyes on his brother in curiosity and surprise, and searched that eternally familiar face. “…Did you just agree with me?” 

And then, right there in that elevator, Loki’s universe crumbled apart. The bill came due, as Dr. Strange would put it. Loki had been counting on Thor to help him, and more than that, had been counting on Thor to _need him_ , or at least _want him_ , for the battle ahead. For the _eons_ ahead.

Instead… Thor was willing to… leave Loki behind? 

Loki couldn’t believe it. 

“It’s probably for the best that we never see one another again,” Loki tested, treading carefully. 

Thor clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s what you always wanted,” he said, all cheer--but he was _wrong_ —how had Thor gotten that so grievously, utterly wrong? Loki stared silently at the door of the elevator, taking stock. He thought he’d known everything there was to know about his brother, and he thought his brother knew him, as well. 

_I’ll tell Father what you did here today._

_I didn’t do it for him—you ponderous dolt!!!!_ Loki wanted to wring his brother’s stupid neck, wondered if maybe a few knives stabbed into Thor’s ears would finally get through to his dense little brain—and these feelings helped, they really did: they were navigable waters, well-traveled paths, and Loki felt safe within the frustration of being misunderstood. 

Thor was also seeking familiar territory, it seemed—by telling Loki he was letting him go, Thor had upended the one constant of their centuries-long relationship, and immediately felt nostalgic for the times when their places were defined and unchallenged: brothers the same age but Thor the larger one, the stronger one; Loki the sallow sidekick ever in his shadow and subject to his whims. 

_Do you want me to be the villain again?_ Loki wondered silently, even as he put up a token resistance to Thor’s plan to do ‘Get Help’. _Do you want me to thwart your plans, keep you on Sakaar, give you reason to hate me again?_ Loki knew he could do all that and more; even as Thor hefted him into the air and chucked his body at a group of startled guards, knocking them down—even as Thor chuckled at that, Loki knew what he had to do—

He had to trick Thor, had to turn the tables on him. That was their recipe, that was their _script_ —Loki would betray Thor once again and then, everything between them would be normal, business as usual, the same old game they’d always played. It would be fine, _it would be fine,_ it would work—

Until suddenly it wasn’t working, and Thor had predicted his move, and worse, a hundred times worse, Thor had tricked Loki.

Thor smiled as he pushed the button, paralyzing Loki with pain from the obedience disk Thor had slapped onto him. Loki’s brain froze, his thoughts skipping like a broken record on a refrain of _it hurts it hurts it hurts,_ and beneath that an involuntary, hopeless plea: _brother stop brother stop brother stop,_ and it all seemed eerily familiar and above all, cruelly fair. 

Even a child, even the Hulk would recognize the fairness of this: Loki had used the obedience disk on Thor just the day before, now Thor used it on Loki. _Fair enough fair enough,_ Loki thought, mind screaming in silent agony. _Now make it stop make it stop make it stop—_

But instead, Thor walked away, and left his brother writhing on the floor. 

Loki would have done anything to make Thor turn around. Anything to make Thor care enough to turn around!!

He hadn’t thought Thor was capable of torturing him, not really. Years back, when Loki’d been hell-bent on ruling Earth, Nick Fury had heavily suggested that Thor ought to get busy torturing some answers out of his brother, but Thor had gone very quiet, and refused. Loki had always savored that moment, whenever it was referenced—apparently that was the moment that Captain America had decided Thor might not be a total crackpot. 

No: Thor wouldn’t torture Loki. Not Thor. Thor wouldn’t leave him like this, helpless, paralyzed, suffering. Loki had kept Thor under the disk’s hold for no more than fifteen seconds. For Loki now, fifteen seconds passed over and over and over again, until finally after around fifteen _minutes,_ Loki began to feel the protests rising that this was no longer fair—this was _not fair not fair not fair,_ and still the pain persisted, and yet Loki refused to accept that Thor would have left him like this. 

Thor must have believed that Loki would get out of it; even if counting on the disk to hold him in place long enough for Thor and Bruce and that cursed Valkyrie to leave the planet, Thor couldn’t have been intending for Loki to hurt this much, for this long. Thor must have trusted that Loki could do something to block the pain; maybe retreat into his own mind, cast some spell to render himself insensate, something. Loki couldn’t do any of that, as it turned out, but that was hardly Thor’s fault. 

As the minutes passed, it became clear that nothing as trivial as _pain_ would be enough to shake Loki’s faith in his brother. Thor was good, Thor was worthy; and Loki more than loved him: Loki believed in him. 

And that was the truth about Loki that the Grandmaster had seen, what he’d found so damned interesting in the depths of Loki’s soul. 

Trapped by the disk, unable to blame Thor, Loki reached a moment of clarity: Thor was right—Loki was better than this. Loki had gone on too long as he was, taking Thor’s love for granted, exploiting it as he pleased. That was over now—it had to be. Life really was about change, as Thor had said, and Loki could change, would change, now. 

By the time the gladiators found him and set him free, Loki had made up his mind. He would turn over a new leaf. He’d step up to the challenge of being 'more' than just the God of Mischief. He'd be the savior of Asgard.

Maybe he’d even be good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK we made it. The next chapter is the orgy ship chapter which every Ragnarok fanfic really needs to have because how can you have your characters flying around in a heckin' ORGY SHIP and not, you know, use that???  
> Never you fear, people who are reading this, I know just what to do with an orgy ship hehehehe....  
> THANK YOU everyone for reading this and giving the kudos and leaving the comments--I love you all!!!!


	20. Can't have an orgy with just three people

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Events on the Orgy Ship, Part One.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I had to throw another deleted scene in here--the one where they're getting knocked around on the ship and Thor straps Bruce into the jumpseat as they go through the Devil's Anus. Apparently a lot of people haven't seen that deleted scene yet and it's seriously the best Bruce/Thor scene ever. It's a little hard to find on youtube and I have no idea how to post a link--but if you haven't seen what I'm describing in the first half of this chapter, PLEASE go search the internet until you find it. It is amazing.  
> EDIT: trying to post the link... hope this works!  
> [I am so sure they accidentally kiss in this scene :3 ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continue=2&v=tbUoBYRlwe0)
> 
> Also this chapter got super long so I'm splitting it into, like, three or four chapters. You're welcome. <3

After an exhilarating spaceship chase across the wastelands of Sakaar, Thor and Valkyrie leapt back aboard the Commodore just in time. Bruce had flown the ship dangerously close to the Devil’s Anus, and they were now being buffeted around in the tornado-like turbulence of the wormhole’s entrance. 

Together Valkyrie and Thor hauled Bruce up out of the pilot’s seat, letting Valkyrie take over. Bruce couldn’t help but express his awe as he relinquished control to the beautiful girl—“You’re a goddess,” he told her as she all but stepped over him to take his place in the cockpit. “You’re amazing.” As Thor pulled him back, steadying him, he added conspiratorially to Thor: “She’s so fierce.” 

Thor gave him a huge grin, eyes lighting up as if to say, _I know!!_

It was clear that Thor was as impressed with the Valkyrie as Bruce was; maybe even more so. It cheered Bruce to know that he and Thor felt similarly about this; it was like discovering they both had a favorite song or a favorite movie or something. They were both fans, clearly—and considering what Bruce had just seen and what the three of them had just lived through, it seemed like a perfect time for a little fanboy-geek-out moment. 

“You guys were incredible!” Bruce declared, adrenaline-inspired exuberance overflowing in his voice, in his motions. “The way you were jumping from ship to ship—” It had been the most badass thing Bruce had ever seen. “You were amazing!!” 

“ _You_ were amazing!” Thor interjected, feeding off Bruce’s excited energy. “The way you were _flying_ this thing—like, ‘AAAH I’ve got no guns!!’—but you did it!” Thor was aglow, honestly as impressed with Bruce as he was with Valkyrie, maybe even more so—admiration was coming off him in waves, and Bruce was absolutely soaking it up. “Where’d you learn to fly like that??” 

“I, I don’t know,” Bruce babbled, his face beaming with the biggest, goofiest smile—a smile the world had never seen on Dr. Banner’s face before, that was for sure. “It was like an instinct!”

“You should trust those instincts more!” Thor encouraged, voice earnest and urgent. “They’re working!” 

Bruce was overcome with embarrassment, delighted by such heartfelt praise. “I should!” he agreed, practically giggling in elation. 

“…You might want to buckle up,” Valkyrie warned from the pilot’s seat, interrupting their golden little moment of joyous mutual affection. They were going to be sucked into the wormhole in a matter of seconds, and it was going to be a bumpy ride.

Bruce had an intrusive thought then, and grabbed Thor’s shoulder for support, attempting to draw Thor down closer. “Hey can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah, sure,” Thor obliged, stooping a little so Bruce could wrap a hand around the back of Thor’s neck. Banner turned so they faced away from the cockpit, so that hopefully Valkyrie wouldn’t hear them. 

“Remember when I said it would take something really big to turn me back into the other guy?” Bruce asked. 

“Yeah.” Of course Thor remembered that. 

“…Do you think a wormhole would do it?” Bruce’s voice was tentative, nervous. 

“I don’t know,” Thor answered honestly, still smiling from the rush and thrill of their spaceship race. “That was your theory.” 

“Yeah, a theory’s just a theory, just a guess,” Bruce stammered, shaking his head, trying way too hard to seem unconcerned—but suddenly he couldn’t keep a look of pure terror out of his eyes, and Thor caught on that Banner might be trying to communicate something serious. 

“A very educated guess,” Thor reminded him, starting to look worried. 

“Still just a guess,” Bruce insisted, fingers clamping tighter on the back of Thor’s neck. “About the pendulum effect—” panic rushed into his voice. “What if I swing back the other way and I get stuck as the other guy forever??” He was practically clambering all over Thor at this point, as if by clinging to Thor he could be protected from his fears. 

“Why are you telling me this now?!” Thor was riled, looking almost as panicked as Banner for a split second, and then realized he would have to hold it together—he had to keep Bruce calm. 

“Because—” Bruce’s voice swarmed with distress. “We’re about to go through a frickin’ wormhole, man—called _Satan’s Anus!_ ” 

Thor raised a finger to shush him, then changed his mind and cupped Bruce’s face with both hands as Bruce grabbed desperately at his arms. 

It was just a split second: Thor’s hands splayed on the sides of Bruce’s face, and Thor was looking into Bruce’s dark eyes, the emotions swirling within them appearing almost as treacherous as the violent funnel-cloud poised to swallow their ship—Thor wished he could do something for Bruce, anything to calm him, to comfort him. He needed Bruce to hang on, to stay with him.

Bruce was pulling on him, pulling him in, and Thor bent his knees a little, leaning down so they could be eye-to-eye. He didn’t know what to say, what to do—what the hell was Thor supposed to do to keep Banner grounded? 

A perfectly timed thump of turbulence from the roaring maelstrom outside provided the answer. The ship bucked, and Thor and Bruce both lost their balance, toppling over together. Thor swung one arm around Bruce’s back, breaking his fall, and with his other hand he managed to catch the side of the cockpit’s doorframe, stopping them from completely collapsing onto the floor. Bruce meanwhile had one arm tight around Thor’s neck and the other wrapped around his side, and suddenly their faces were jostled together, their noses squashing into each other. 

Bruce just went with it: without a fraction of a thought about whether or not he ought to, he smacked Thor with a kiss, right on the mouth. In the moment there was just nothing else to be done—Thor’s face was just _there_ suddenly, pressed against Bruce’s face, warm and scratchy and for once not towering out of reach because Thor was so goddamn tall all the time. It was an accident—totally an accident. Bruce hadn’t planned for the ship to throw them like that, hadn’t planned for Thor to catch him, hadn’t planned to find himself dipped backwards towards the floor like some kind of dance move, with Thor effortlessly supporting his weight—it was all one huge, ridiculous accident.

“ _Mh_ ,” Thor grunted against Bruce’s mouth. 

“I told you to buckle up,” Valkyrie chastised from the front, sounding amused. 

The ship lurched again, accelerating. Thor pulled away, bringing Bruce back up to his feet. 

“Am I okay?” Bruce asked breathlessly. “Am I all right?” 

“Yes,” Thor assured him, but seemed totally at a loss for words. The better question might have been: was _Thor_ all right? He was looking at Banner differently now, seeming shocked, confused—and more than a little worried. 

There was a tiny smudge of green showing through the skin on Banner’s temple, which Thor gingerly rubbed at, hoping to stop it from spreading. It seemed to work—the green faded away at Thor’s touch. 

“Strap me in,” Bruce insisted, and Thor hustled him backwards to the jumpseat in the rear of the cockpit. 

“Okay.” Thor crouched down beside Banner to help him with the harness. 

“Okay—” Bruce echoed, feeling some of the tension inside him finally seeping away. Thor was leaning over him, finding the various ends of the buckles. “No matter what I do or say, don’t unstrap me.” 

With barely a word, Thor snugged the straps into place, and even though they both knew there was no chance of such feeble restraints having any effect on the Hulk, Bruce still felt reassured by their presence, by having Thor secure him in place like that. 

With Bruce strapped in, Thor met his eyes one last time, his expression far too solemn. 

“Why’re you looking at me like that?” Bruce demanded, instantly flooded with guilt over kissing him. “I’m sorry, okay? You said I should go with my instincts—”

“It’s fine,” Thor said quietly. “It’s going to be all right.”

“This is it,” Valkyrie announced, and Thor stumbled his way into the co-pilot’s seat just in the nick of time. 

Bursting through a tsunami of gravitational forces, the Commodore crossed the threshold into the wormhole, and escaped from Sakaar. 

They were all three of them pressed into unconsciousness from the initial shock, but barely a minute later, they found themselves coming around. 

“That… was that it?” Bruce asked from the jumpseat. The ship was sailing smoothly now, gliding along a tunnel made of ultraviolet and magenta light. It reminded Bruce of the Aurora Borealis, except it was predominantly neon-pink instead of green. 

“There’ll be another big bump like that when we come out on the other side,” Valkyrie explained, tapping a few keys on the console. 

“How long til we get there?” Bruce wondered. 

Valkyrie smiled. “Computer says three days, but who knows. I’ve set it to warn us when we’re close.”

Bruce’s eyes were drawn back to the gorgeous colors beyond the windows. “So this is like, hyperspace? Are we in _warp?_ What is this?” 

Valkyrie stood and stretched. “ _This_ is time for a drink,” she announced, and strode off to raid the liquor cabinet. 

“…Thor?” Bruce asked after a moment. Thor was sitting in the seat directly in front of him, so Bruce couldn’t see his face. 

Thor sighed, and didn’t turn around. “What?” 

“Uhh—sorry for freaking out just now,” Banner said awkwardly. “I kind of thought that might have been the end of me.” 

“It’s okay. No harm done,” Thor assured him. 

“I um, want to apologize though, for, sort of…”

Thor stood and faced Banner, who was still comically buckled into his seat. Thor crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes. “I’m guessing you don’t want to stay strapped in there for three whole days,” he said, totally ignoring Bruce’s attempted apology. 

“No, I guess not.” 

Thor grinned at him. “But I’m not supposed to let you out, no matter what you do or say? Isn’t that what you told me a moment ago?”

“You shouldn’t tease him,” Valkyrie scolded Thor, reappearing with a freshly-opened bottle in her hand. She leaned in and released Bruce from the harness. 

“Thanks,” Bruce said, startled that Valkyrie had intervened on his behalf. 

Valkyrie took a long swig from her bottle as her way of saying ‘you’re welcome’. 

“So…” Bruce looked back and forth from the Valkyrie to the God of Thunder, realizing all over again that they were the two most attractive people he had ever seen, and now they were both looking at him. “…What are we going to do in here for the next three days?” 

A wicked smile lit Valkyrie’s face. “I don’t know about you two, but I know what _I’m_ going to do,” she stated, and wiggled the bottle in her hand. “No sense in letting any of the Grandmaster’s private booze collection go to waste.”

Thor frowned and opened his mouth to suggest that maybe Valkyrie shouldn’t be totally plastered when it was time to fight Hela, but Valkyrie produced a knife from somewhere and pointed it at Thor’s chest. “Shut it,” she snapped, before Thor managed a single word. “I know what I’m doing. This is a leisure vessel, remember? We all may as well enjoy ourselves before we die.” 

“Shouldn’t we maybe use the time to figure out how _not_ to die?” Bruce suggested. 

Valkyrie rolled her eyes. “We’re talking about Hela. At best, we take her with us when we go.” 

“When we go, to…Valhalla?” Bruce wondered. “Isn’t that, like, the thing with you guys, or…?”

Valkyrie blink-blinked at Bruce, and then turned to Thor. “Is this guy all there?” she asked. 

“Oh, yeah—” Thor straightened up, smiling apologetically on Bruce’s behalf. “He’s actually really, really smart—smartest man on Earth.” 

“ _Midgard._ ” It seemed the word left a bad taste in her mouth. “Should’ve guessed. Anyway, if you want to talk about Valhalla, it might be worth mentioning some of the old traditions, eh, your majesty?” 

Thor frowned, not entirely sure where this was going. “Traditions?” he shook his head. 

“We just a won a battle,” Valkyrie reminded them both. “Made it out alive—how would warriors celebrate that, in the good old days?”

“Oh,” Thor’s forehead crinkled as he thought of something. “By eating, drinking—feasting.” Then he blushed, as he thought of something else.

“I could eat,” Bruce spoke up, realizing he was starving. 

Valkyrie noted the uncomfortable look on Thor’s face and smiled. “Feasting. There you go. Plenty of traditional ways to enjoy ourselves.” She took another long sip.

“But, you said, this is like, an orgy ship,” Bruce remembered awkwardly. “You’re not suggesting we…”

“Have an orgy?” Valkyrie asked, and then laughed. “’Course not. Can’t have an orgy with just three people.” 

“No,” Bruce gulped, realizing how ridiculous that would be. “That would just be, um, a threesome.”

There was a terribly awkward moment while Valkyrie chugged about half the contents of her bottle, and no one said anything. Thor looked like he might have forgotten how to talk all together. 

“Well,” Valkyrie said after that long, long pause. “Do you boys want to have a threesome?” 

Shocked, Bruce looked at Thor, but Thor was looking at Valkyrie, so Bruce looked at Valkyrie, and then back at Thor, who this time met his eyes. 

“ _Uh,_ ” said Bruce and Thor in unison. 

Valkyrie rolled her eyes. “Then you’re in luck,” she said, clicking her tongue on the ‘ck’. “Because _I don’t either_.” 

She smirked at them both and stepped out, leaving them to gather their senses. 

“She’s ferocious,” Bruce half-whispered in awe. “And so beautiful, totally out of my league.” He looked up appreciatively at Thor, who was scowling. “You’d have a shot though.” 

“What?” Thor shook his head, cross, as if Bruce had just been speaking nonsense. 

“With her, with Valkyrie,” Bruce explained. “The two of you could, like, hook up. You’re both insanely attractive.” 

“No, that isn’t—” Thor protested. “That’s nothing to do with--” 

“Oh, _spare me_ , please,” Bruce rolled his eyes dramatically. “There is no way you’re not interested.”

“No, that’s not what I meant. She could have me, if she wanted.” 

Bruce actually giggled. “ _Have_ you? Oh my god, you are so cute.”

Thor smiled and narrowed his eyes. “Am I?” he asked, and cocked his head. “That why you kissed me, little while ago?” 

“Totally,” Bruce confirmed. “That and, you know, you swept me off my feet like that, and, oh yeah, also I thought my life was over, and you seemed like the only thing that might be able to, um…” Bruce felt his heart speeding up and stopped, meeting Thor’s eyes. _Thor’s sad_ , Bruce thought, and wondered how he was so sure. “…save me,” he finished, voice soft. 

“You know I sort of miss the Hulk,” Thor admitted, always so open about his feelings. “I realize now I did it all wrong, trying to go get the Quinjet by myself.” He clapped a hand on Banner’s shoulder, causing Bruce to wonder if Thor sensed the same sort of electricity between them as Bruce did. “But, Banner, you’re my friend too, and I don’t want to lose you. I don’t know if I can really save you from turning back into the other guy, but, I promise to try my best.”

“Because that’s what’s friends do?” Bruce gawped at him. 

Thor nodded. “That’s what friends do,” he confirmed. “Maybe heroes, too.” 

“Thank you.” Bruce felt humbled, and reassured, and even with the threat of Hela looming in the cosmos ahead, he felt a tiny bit optimistic, which for him was every bit as weird and unsettling as everything else he’d experienced that day. At least he could count on Thor to be there for him—that was really the only thing holding Bruce together. He reached out and patted Thor’s arm. “You’re a—a really good friend.”

“So are you,” Thor replied, eyes crinkling in a slightly-wistful smile. 

“I’m also a starving friend,” Bruce informed him. “Do you think we can find some food?”


	21. Two friends from work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Events on the Orgy Ship, Part Two.

The Commodore’s galley, it turned out, was stocked with a variety of delicacies, each one squirmier than the last. There was an assortment of pungent crustaceans, slimy mollusks with and without shells, brightly-colored centipedes, and a drawer of assorted sea-creature things that Bruce identified as echinoderms. 

Bruce was relieved when he finally found something that resembled udon noodles, and decided he was too hungry to look further. The galley was a little bit like a lab, and Bruce had no trouble figuring out how to warm up the food with an infrared heater. He filled two bowls with hot noodles, and went to find Thor. 

Of course, they soon discovered that the ‘noodles’ were actually the extremely long tails of a squishy sort of grub. Despite this revelation, Thor went ahead and devoured his portion. And Bruce had to admit, whatever kind of spacebug it was, it honestly hadn’t tasted too bad. Neither of them commented on their accidental discovery of some very provocative tentacle porn on the ship’s holographic entertainment system.

After learning that Valkyrie liked the noodle-grubs, Bruce went back to the galley and fixed her a bowl, too. He found her in the cockpit, staring out at the interstellar light display, her feet kicked up on the yoke, a new bottle of liquor in her hand—it looked like a gallon-sized jug of moonshine.

“Hey, I brought you some of that food,” Bruce remarked awkwardly from the doorway. 

“Thanks,” she said, and held out the bottle, offering to trade booze for noodles. 

Bruce hadn’t been expecting that, so he took the jug, and handed her the bowl. “I um, I don’t really drink though,” he said, looking down. 

Valkyrie studied him, her eyes not wavering in the slightest as she chomped on the noodles in an overly-aggressive fashion. She didn’t once look at the food, Bruce noted—instead she was looking out as if staring down anyone who might try to take the food from her. She was a noisy chewer—or the food was just that squelchy. “Why not?” she asked at length, after emptying her bowl even faster than Thor had emptied his. 

“Why don’t I drink?” Bruce gave a nervous laugh. “Just don’t like to risk losing control, I guess.”

“Control,” Valkyrie scoffed. “That’s a nice delusion.” 

“Everything okay in here?” Thor asked, sticking his head in the doorway. He seemed a little less broody than when Bruce had left him a few minutes ago—no doubt a little food in his stomach had cheered him up. 

“This one says he doesn’t drink,” Valkyrie related, a loud little edge of impatience in her voice. 

“Oh, well, I do,” Thor offered, and sidled up next to Bruce, rescuing the bottle from his hands. He held it up in a little toast. “To the Revengers,” he grinned, and took a long swig. 

Valkyrie fixed her eyes on his throat. “Hmm,” she smirked as he lowered the bottle. “Your brother’s much better at that.” 

“Better? hah. At what?” Thor’s face made it clear that this was the stupidest joke he’d ever heard. “I’ve beaten him at every drinking contest in the Nine Realms.” 

“Not drinking,” Valkyrie looked wickedly pleased with herself. “ _Swallowing_.” 

“Eugh,” Thor made a wholly involuntary noise of disgust. 

“Whoa, wow,” Bruce spoke up, seeming a little shaky. “Is it just me, or, do you think we can maybe tone it down on the sexual stuff? I am still not totally comfortable with this being an orgy ship and all.” 

Suddenly they were both looking at him again. It was making him sweat. 

“What?” Bruce looked back and forth at them desperately. “I’m not crazy, ok? That was obviously some kind of flirting or something. She’s flirting with you!” Bruce insisted to Thor. 

“O-kay,” Thor said, with the we’re-done-here resignation of a parent who had just realized it was time to carry their child out of the store before things got ugly. 

“It is not okay!” Bruce declared. “I’m telling you it’s too much! I’ve been _turned on_ all day and now I just want to sit here and watch the universe go by and I don’t need any reminders of _you_ ,” he pointed at Valkyrie. “Sticking your fingers in _his_ ” –he pointed at Thor—“brother’s _mouth_ and making him swallow stuff! It’s not cool! It’s not okay, okay?! Everything this whole day has been, just, too freaking stimulating!” Bruce threw up his hands, as if to hold them both off. “You know what? I’m out of here. I need to take a shower.” 

“Suit yourself,” Valkyrie shrugged. 

“There is a shower, right?” Bruce asked, voice quavering. 

Valkyrie’s eyebrows climbed in an expression that Bruce totally should have interpreted as a warning. “Oh yeah,” she said, nonchalant. 

“Good,” Bruce pushed past Thor and practically fled from the cockpit. “See you later.”

Once he was gone, Thor frowned and took another drink, then held the jug out to Valkyrie. 

“…Your little boyfriend’s really weird,” she remarked, accepting the liquor and upending it into her mouth. 

“He’s not my boyfriend, and, he’s under a lot of pressure,” Thor offered in explanation. 

“Midgardian mortal,” she murmured. “So obviously repressed.” She took another sip and passed it back to Thor.

“Yeah—him more than most. You’ve no idea.” 

Valkyrie tipped her head, looking at Thor strangely. “Just how do you know him, anyway?”

“He’s ah, a friend from work,” Thor said without thinking. 

She narrowed her eyes. “Like the Hulk? Seems you meet a wide range of characters at this ‘work’ of yours.” 

“Mm. That’s certainly true,” Thor smiled, realizing the alcohol he was drinking was actually really tasty stuff. 

“Care to elaborate?” Valkyrie prodded. 

“Sure, we,” Thor made a face, thinking how best to explain. “It’s like a team that saves Earth from villains and stuff.” 

Valkyrie laughed aloud and motioned for Thor to give her back her beverage—he was gulping it down way too fast, and she’d wanted this particular bottle to last a while. “You’re telling me that tiny man is like some big hero on Earth?”

“One of the biggest,” Thor reported happily, knowing she wouldn’t get it. “I told you he was smart. He’s a scientist.”

“I can’t figure out why he seems so familiar,” Valkyrie mused, her brow furrowing. 

“Oh, you know. He’s just, one of those guys, one of those people you see, around, places,” Thor attempted to deflect her interest, but it wasn’t working. 

“You know what I think?” she asked, a tint of danger in her voice.

“…what?” Thor was a little afraid to find out.

“I think you’re hiding something, you and him.” 

“Um…” Thor looked away, the very picture of guilt. 

“And I think you should get drunk with me, so that I can find out what it is.” She offered him the jug, and against his better judgement, he would have taken it—but at that moment, a very human scream rang out from somewhere in the ship. 

“Banner!” Thor dashed off, cursing himself for letting Bruce wander off alone. 

Valkyrie helped herself to one more good pull from the bottle, then thumbed the cork back into the neck of it and decided to go see what the trouble was. 

Thor tore through the ship, searching for Banner. He wasn’t totally sure where the shower was but there were only so many places it could be—finally he spotted Tony Stark’s jacket, pants and t-shirt folded neatly on a bench, and was sure he had the right door. He banged his fist on the button to open it—

And never could have been prepared for what awaited him inside. “AA-AH!” Thor yelled as an incredibly colorful scene assaulted him. It was a shower, all right—a shower of glowing neon liquids and plenty of aroma-therapy vapor, complete with a sort of a disco-ball spinning in the middle of the ceiling, lights flashing and soapy foam spraying out of it, music blaring from somewhere with a pumping techno beat, while, worst of all, an astonishing assortment of rubbery appendages were waving and spinning and wriggling out of the walls—they were all different colors and sizes and textures—some were bristly, others spongy, some of them looked like the curious little wand-things people used to scrub dishes and pans back on earth. Some of them were unfurling and rolling back up over and over like those little paper party horns people blew into that made a silly noise. A lot of them seemed to be shooting water in all directions; some at high velocity.

The effect, altogether, was that this was a sort of an alien rave in the middle of a psychedelic rainstorm, with the various scrubbing and spinning and spraying appendages serving as the limbs of a very diverse crowd of party-goers. 

“What the hell!?” Thor yelled into the shower, batting away a lavender-colored hose-arm that made a wiggly pass at his face. “Banner are you in there?!” Bruce didn’t answer, but Thor spotted him then, curled into a ball in the corner, knees drawn up to his chest and arms protecting his head.

Thor barged into the shower on a rescue mission, grabbing and ripping the various nozzle-arms and hose-pipes out of the walls as he went, dismantling the whole ridiculous array. As he dropped to his knees at Banner’s side, trying to shelter him from the onslaught of color and noise and water and soap, Valkyrie appeared in the doorway behind him and flipped a switch on the wall. 

The whole thing turned off, just like that—music, lights, flashing disco-ball foam dispenser—it all instantly went away. All the waggling arm-things retracted into the walls, leaving behind only the twitching, broken ones that Thor had torn apart. 

“Banner,” Thor gulped, rubbing his back. 

“Why,” said Banner breathlessly. “Why would anyone put all that stuff in a shower?”

“Don’t know,” Thor said. “Glad you’re ok.”

“I just wanted a normal shower.” Bruce’s voice sounded a little broken. He raised his head, eyes wild. “It was worse than a Japanese toilet, man, with the things that like, spray you—it was a thousand times worse than that! why would anybody make a shower like that?! Showers are supposed to be relaxing, not give you a freaking heart attack!” 

“You’re ok, you’re ok,” Thor repeated, patting his shoulder. 

“Normal shower is _this_ one,” Valkyrie instructed from the doorway, and clicked a different switch. A lovely warm cone of water sputtered on from the ceiling, raining down on Thor and Bruce. “And, if you want a bath, this one.” She pointed at the switch but didn’t hit it. 

“The other guy likes baths,” Bruce confided to Thor. 

“Yeah I know,” Thor replied. 

Bruce’s face scrunched in confusion. “How do you know that?”

“Who’s the ‘other guy’?” Valkyrie asked, folding her arms. 

“Nobody, nothing,” Thor told her, totally unconvincingly. “There is no other guy.”

“It’s, um, just me,” Bruce added, also unhelpfully. “Sometimes I’m like a, scared guy, and sometimes I’m a, uh,”

“Funny guy,” Thor chimed in. “Yeah—he’s hilarious. You should see his act: the scared guy and the funny guy. The audience loves it, every time. He’s an unstoppable, um, comedic, genius.”

“Right.” Valkyrie was clearly not buying it. “Well. If the two of you would like to finish getting cleaned up, I’ll leave you to it.” 

“Great,” Thor said, and Valkyrie closed the door on them. The lights instantly dimmed from a bright white to a soft yellow. 

Thor cleared his throat as he realized that he was huddled in a shower with a once-again-naked Bruce Banner. 

“Soo…” Bruce toned awkwardly, as water ran down both of their faces. “Thanks for, um, dashing in here...”

“It was no problem,” Thor assured him. “Do you… ah, need me to stay?” 

“No, that’s, that wouldn’t be—I’ll be okay.”

“All right, I’ll go…find you some towels or something.”

“Sounds good.” Bruce caught his hand as Thor stood up. “Just—um, maybe don’t go too far? Just in case?”

Thor nodded. “I’ll be right outside the door,” he promised. 

“Don’t hit any of the buttons on your way out,” Bruce cautioned. 

“I won’t.” Thor patted Bruce’s arm a final time, and excused himself. 

True to his word, Thor didn’t go far at all, and he did find towels—and bathrobes. It turned out the Commodore had a fully-stocked walk-in closet of leisure wear right next to the shower, with everything from negligees to dressing-gowns, and anything else a person might wear while lounging about—loose-fitting shirts and baggy pants, warm woolly socks and cozy slippers, all in an array of colors and styles. 

Thor’s gladiator getup had gotten soaked in the shower and was quickly starting to chafe, so he stripped it all off, toweled dry and helped himself to a set of flannelly red pajamas. He found a set of royal purple pajamas and a fluffy oatmeal-colored bathrobe for Bruce, and left those on the bench by Tony Stark’s outfit, along with a stack of towels. 

***

Valkyrie nearly snorted alcohol out of her nose when the pair of them reappeared on the bridge. 

“I see you’ve made yourselves at home,” she snarked. They were both wearing slippers. 

“Personally, I hate wearing armor three days in a row,” Thor stated, making it seem as though he were sharing this information with Bruce. “So much more comfortable in trackies.” 

“Trackies—yeah,” Bruce agreed. “That’s like, sweatpants in Australian, right? Dude—” Bruce’s face lit up. “Remember when I visited you? In Australia?”

“Of course, that was awesome,” Thor grinned at the memory. 

“And we got cappuccinos at that little café, and you were wearing this weird outfit with, like, boardshorts—” Bruce remembered excitedly. 

“I love boardshorts,” Thor gushed. 

“And Tony called—” 

“—And you told Tony Stark that no amount of money would make you join his pissing contest!” Thor recalled, quite accurately, clearly delighted at the memory. “It was great!” 

Valkyrie rolled her eyes, “All right, I get it already—you’re totally Best Friends, hurray for you.”

“You’re our friend too,” Thor told her warmly, in case she was feeling left out. 

“Barely.” A cloud passed over her face. “I _had_ a friend, but I left him on Sakaar.” 

“Oh,” Thor realized who she meant, and couldn’t stop his eyes from drifting over to Banner. “Well, you know, he’s… he’s fine.” 

“How do you know?”

“He… told me,” Thor decided, attempting to sound confident. He squared his shoulders. 

“Really,” Valkyrie said, shaking her head at just how pathetic Thor was at lying. 

“Yup, he, was just going to, take a break from fighting, go explore the wilderness for a while, do some training in private… um, you know I wanted him to come with us, but, he was really happy there. Didn’t want to leave.”

“Who you guys talking about?” Bruce wondered innocently. 

“My friend,” Valkyrie informed him. “The Hulk.”

Bruce looked vaguely like he’d been hit by a truck. “Oh, uh, did you say Hulk?” His voice went a little high, and he looked to Thor for help, awkwardly feigning ignorance. “…What’s, um, what's a Hulk?” 

Valkyrie narrowed her eyes. “You are both so full of shit,” she declared. She stabbed a finger in Thor’s direction, but didn’t take her eyes off Bruce. “This guy says Hulk’s his friend from work, then says _you’re_ his friend from work too. Now you expect me to believe his two ‘friends from work’ don’t know each other? The one of them is pretty fucking hard to miss.”

“Em, _you know_ ,” Thor said urgently to Bruce, struggling to recover from this disaster. “The _Hulk_ , the big, green…” 

“Oh, oh!” Bruce flustered, eyes widening. “The _green_ one— _that_ Hulk, yes, of course. Um…” he looked back at Valkyrie in suspicion. “Did you say he was your friend??” 

“Yes he was. I found him, when he landed on Sakaar. Took him to the Grandmaster.” 

“Sold him, more like,” Thor muttered in disapproval. Valkyrie shot him a murderous glare. 

“I was Hulk’s training partner, and his drinking buddy,” Valkyrie related. 

Bruce looked utterly horrified. “You would drink with that _monster_?”

“He’s not a monster,” corrected Thor and Valkyrie in stereo, and then looked at each other in surprise—but of course neither of them looked half as surprised as Bruce. 

Valkyrie cleared her throat. “He’s a really good guy,” she explained. “Sometimes I’d go over to his room just to hang out, get drunk. He always made me feel safe.” 

“… _what_?” Bruce could not have looked more dumbfounded if Valkyrie had told him that the Hulk had been working on a PhD.

Valkyrie shrugged. “He was the undefeated Champion of Sakaar.” There was a wistful tone in her voice. “Best friend a numbered Scrapper could have.” 

“Undefeated?” Bruce echoed. “Hey—but Thor said he beat him.” 

“ _Pfft_ ,” Valkyrie took a swig from her third bottle of liquor that evening. “Thor’s a liar.” 

Bruce turned to Thor, mouth ajar, totally scandalized. 

“I would have won, but I had a handicap, remember? That thing in my neck?” Thor protested. 

“Granted, he’s a really _bad_ liar, but, still,” Valkyrie looked eternally pleased with herself. 

Bruce looked away, eyes dark, and Thor could almost hear that formidable brain of his, thinking. 

“So… Hulk would drink with you,” Bruce said carefully. 

“All the time, yeah,” Valkyrie confirmed. 

“Did it make him mad?” 

“What, drinking??” Valkyrie laughed. “No, it put him right to sleep every time. He’d pass out and sometimes I’d use his hand for a pillow. Rest my head right in his palm.”

“But—he could crush your skull like a grape!” Bruce’s voice was shaky again. 

“Yeah, but… he wouldn’t,” Valkyrie told him off, all but adding a ‘duh,’ to the end of her statement. 

Bruce staggered over to a seat and slumped into it, covering his face with his hands. “Hulk made a friend,” he muttered to himself in a small, lost voice. “Hulk made an actual friend. And had sex with Thor.” 

Valkyrie stifled a giggle and looked over at Thor. “Seriously??”

“Yep,” Thor acknowledged, unashamed. 

“Oh my god, did you love it?” 

“Yeah, it was good,” Thor confided. 

“But then you just, like, ditched him out in the wastepiles?” She blinked at Thor in shock. “Man. I thought _I_ was cold, but, that is cold.”

“Hey, I didn’t _want_ to leave him,” Thor protested. “He’s the one who wanted to stay.” 

“Stop,” said Bruce firmly. “Both of you, please. Stop talking about the Hulk.” He sounded tired, but also, strangely authoritative. Thor immediately shut up, hoping he hadn’t said anything too upsetting. Valkyrie looked a little annoyed that this little man in his fuzzy bathrobe and slippers would presume to boss her around, but something about him compelled her to respect his request. 

Bruce took a deep, slow breath. “…You know,” he said after a pause. “I think I want a beer.”

“Thought you weren’t a drinker,” Valkyrie mentioned.

“I wasn’t,” Bruce smiled, and his eyes seemed old. “But apparently people change.”


	22. Bruce and Val and Thor and his brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Events on the Orgy Ship, Part Three.

Valkyrie did the honors, fetching Bruce a beer and popping off the cap with the edge of her knife. She handed a bottle to Thor as well, picked up the liquor she’d already been working on, and the three of them clinked their drinks together and settled in for an old-fashioned sit-and-sip. 

That first beer had a profound effect on Banner, Thor couldn’t help but notice: it calmed him down, made him more like the reserved, subdued man that Thor remembered from earth instead of the expressive, frantically stressed person who had woken up on Sakaar. Thor had observed the alcohol-makes-Hulk-sleepy effect that Valkyrie had described, that first night after their big fight when Thor had accidentally almost killed himself by drinking magic-laced alcohol. One beer, even a strong, sour Sakaarian beer, wasn’t enough to make Banner seem sleepy, not exactly—but he definitely seemed more calm. 

Valkyrie was drinking with reckless abandon, and Thor wondered how much it would take before she herself went down for the count. She was enjoying herself, that much was clear, asking questions about Bruce and earth and the mysterious ‘work’ that Bruce and Thor and Hulk were involved in. Banner answered everything as honestly as possible without giving away his one big—very big—secret. 

It bothered Thor a little to see how guarded Bruce was being; even as he opened up a little, and smiled, and giggled at some of Valkyrie’s laser-sharp remarks, he was still not really being himself. 

It became clear that Bruce and the Valkyrie had a natural chemistry—Bruce started calling her ‘Val’, and she didn’t even mind. Thor was glad to see that they were becoming more relaxed around each other by the minute, until it seemed to Thor that maybe they ought to tell Val the truth about the Hulk. The only reason he could imagine for not telling her was that maybe she wouldn’t believe them, and would try to force Bruce to transform, which Thor supposed could end badly for everyone involved. Bruce had made it clear that he did not want to risk turning back into his greener self, and remembering how terrified Banner had been just before the ship had made the jump, Thor doubted the knowledge that the green guy had a friend or two who would be happy to see him would be enough to convince Banner to face the possibility of ceasing to exist. 

Towards the end of his second beer, Banner finally seemed to be having fun, his voice a little louder when he talked, his expressions and gestures bigger and sillier when he told a story. 

Thor caught Valkyrie checking the level of his own drink when she thought he wasn’t looking. 

“Holding back, your majesty?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow at him. 

“I’ve no hope of keeping up with you, so, not even going to try,” he told her. 

“What about all those contests you boasted about winning all over the Nine Realms?” she goaded. 

“That was a long time ago,” Thor said with a smile. 

Valkyrie shrugged. “You could get back into it.” She held up a fresh pitcher to tempt him. 

“Not tonight,” Thor declined amiably. “Besides, I’m keeping an eye on the two of you.”

She craned her neck, giving him a look that was half offended, and half impressed. “A chaperone? Bruce, look, we’ve got a chaperone.” 

“Hi chaperone!” Bruce giggled and gave Thor a goofy little wave from across the table. Thor waved back at him. 

Bruce turned to Val, face lit up in a smile. “He makes me feel special,” he told her in a conspiratorial tone. 

“You _are_ special,” Valkyrie replied. “You’re the least-annoying Midgardian I’ve ever met.”

“Thank you,” Bruce breathed, overwhelmed by this compliment, and called out across the room: “Thor, she thinks I’m special!”

Thor chuckled a little. “I heard her,” he replied. 

“Right, sorry,” Bruce apologized. “Just seems like I should be shouting, like people do in a bar, but, it’s actually not very loud in here.”

“We could play some music,” Valkyrie suggested, and leaned forward in her chair, finger poised to tap a button on the console in the middle of the table—the console that would activate the holographic entertainment system.

“No-no-no!” Thor warned, lunging forward to grab her wrist. 

But he was a fraction of a second too slow, and she was a fraction of a second too fast. Instead of grabbing her wrist, Thor ended up bouncing his face off the table, his arm suddenly twisted behind his back and Valkyrie somehow perched behind him. She pulled his wrist up towards his shoulder blades, causing him to clench his teeth in pain. “What was that about?” she said, voice cool and low. 

“Trust me, you do _not_ want to turn that thing on,” Thor insisted, looking back at her over his shoulder. 

Bruce’s mouth had fallen open at the unexpected blur of violence that had just occurred, but now he realized what Thor had been trying to prevent. “oh, yeah, there are some _totally_ inappropriate videos on there,” he said, eyes going wide at the word ‘totally’. 

“Inappropriate?” Valkyrie scoffed. Still holding Thor to the table with his arm pinned behind him, she reached over his head with her other hand (which was clutching a knife, Thor noted) and turned the system on. 

A hologram sputtered to life, an image of a plush white couch, with _Loki_ sitting squarely in the middle of it--on the edge of the cushions, knees apart and feet crossed at the ankles, hands loosely folded in his lap. He was alone, but was looking up and off-camera at someone as if waiting to be asked a question. 

_“Hey there,”_ drawled the Grandmaster’s unmistakable voice, off-screen. 

Valkyrie had been leaning across Thor’s back just then, casually reinforcing the fact that she’d totally owned him, and so she was in the very best position to notice how his entire body tensed at the sight of his brother. Her face registered a little bit of awe at the impressive change: Thor’d been a sloppy sack of potatoes when she’d pinned him; suddenly he was a coiled spring, practically buzzing with energy. In a real fight against her, Valkyrie realized then, Thor might win.

“urrgghh,” Thor groaned, pressing his face into the table so he wouldn’t have to look at the display. 

“Whoa is that Loki?!” Banner blurted out unnecessarily. It was very obviously Loki. 

_“How you doin’? Doin’ good?”_ enquired the Grandmaster’s amused and curious voice, apparently from behind the camera. 

_“Fine, thank you,”_ replied Loki in his most genial voice, smiling. 

“Least he’s like, wearing all his clothes,” Bruce commented. “I mean, based on what we saw before, this could totally be worse.”

“Turn it off,” grunted Thor.

“Why?” Valkyrie asked with false sweetness. “What if it gets interesting?” 

Thor stood up, forcing Val to jump out of the way. He made a fist and smashed it down through the projection of his brother and onto the console, pulverizing it with a crack of lightning that briefly lit up the room like a flare. The holographic image disappeared, the entertainment system now permanently offline. Little bluish-white sparks twitched along Thor’s arms and then disappeared. 

“Whoa!” Bruce had stumbled backwards from his seat, thoroughly shocked. “Was that like a lightning-punch? Is that new? Could you always do that? That seemed like a lot of raw power.”

Thor was looking decidedly grumpy. 

“…Do you and I need to go a few rounds?” Val asked him, tipping her head to one side. “Do some sparring or something, just… burn that off for you?”

Thor shook his head, coming around. “No,” he sighed. “I’m fine. Sorry. I just didn’t want to think about—” he looked blankly at the spot where the hologram had been.

Bruce cleared his throat. “Well, um, now that we’re all thinking about him anyway, I actually was going to ask you…”

“Yeah, me too,” Valkyrie said, brow furrowing. “Whatever happened? Did you kill him?”

“Of course I didn’t kill him,” Thor sounded mildly offended. 

“It’s just… I thought he’d be coming with us, and then, you showed up with this ship all by yourself,” Bruce recounted. “Like, what went wrong?”

Thor sat down, heavily, and rested his elbows on the table, fingers digging into his forehead as if he had a headache. “He said he wanted to come with us. Then he said he’d be better off staying on Sakaar. And then, when I agreed with him, he set off the alarms in an attempt to get me captured. But, I knew he was going to try something like that, so I’d put an obedience disk on him and the moment he turned on me, I activated it.” 

“Ha, perfect,” Valkyrie approved, reclaiming the drink she’d discarded and lifting it to her lips. “Nicely done.” 

“Did you say, ‘obedience disk’?” Bruce sounded uncomfortable. “What's that?”

“It’s this little device that paralyzes people with pain when you push a button on a controller,” Thor explained. “Our friend Valkyrie here put one on me when I first met her, that’s how she was able to sell me to the Grandmaster as a slave.”

Bruce had not had time yet to put together the full story of Thor’s adventures on Sakaar, but the more he heard, the crazier it all seemed. “You were the Grandmaster’s _slave?_ ”

“So were y—so was the Hulk,” Thor informed him, with a guilty glance at Valkyrie to see if she’d picked up on his little mistake. Fortunately, she’d missed it.

“As Champion, Hulk was a free citizen,” Valkyrie corrected. “And technically after your fight, when Hulk claimed you as a prize, you became the Hulk’s slave.” 

Bruce seemed on the verge of a panic attack again. “The Hulk kept Thor _as a slave?!_ ” 

“That’s not how it seemed to me,” Thor butted in, mostly to reassure Banner. “After the fight, the Grandmaster paid me a visit and made it clear that I was still the Grandmaster’s property.”

Valkyrie shrugged. “I did see a note on your registration that said the Grandmaster retained all proprietary rights to you, while granting managerial rights to your brother.” 

“Wait what?” Bruce was trying not to hyperventilate. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Valkyrie explained to Bruce, “His brother was to be in charge of making sure he earned money, while the Grandmaster would keep all the money he earned. And everything else, every other aspect of his life, would be determined by the Hulk, such as whether he ate or starved, whether he slept in a cage or chained to a wall, whether he got beaten for not doing as he was told, or whatever.” 

“What—” Bruce gulped helplessly. “Did—” 

“No,” Thor said firmly. “Hulk may have claimed me as a ‘prize’ but he treated me as a friend, not as a slave. I promise.” 

Bruce shot him a grateful look, but as their eyes met they both knew they’d have to Talk About This later. 

Valkyrie rolled her eyes. “Can we get back to the story now? With your brother? After you hit him with the disk, what happened?”

“Oh, right,” Thor took a deep breath. “Well… nothing. I left him there, paralyzed. I climbed aboard this ship, powered it up, flew it out into the city and met up with the two of you. You know the rest.”

Bruce was stunned. “So you just left him back there?! You abandoned your own brother down on that terrifying planet with that freaky Grand-master guy?!” 

The tiniest trace of guilt crept into Thor’s expression. “Loki’s the one who set off the alarms after promising not to,” he muttered defensively. 

“But two wrongs don’t make a right,” Bruce pointed out, gently.

“Yeah, ok,” Val scoffed. “If you ask me, it’s what he deserves.” Her voice was cold. “That slippery little eel invaded my brain, dug up my past. If the Grandmaster executes him for letting us escape, I say good riddance.” 

She punctuated her statement with a long swig from her bottle, while Thor’s face slowly flooded with worry. 

“I am still angry at him,” Thor confessed. “It’s his fault that our father is dead and our sister is destroying Asgard. And, he invaded my brain too. He does that. And he doesn’t care if it hurts the people he does it to, which is, it’s… really disturbing. Anyway I was glad I was able to trick him, but also I was sure he’d be able to get himself free the second I was out of sight. I’m a little surprised that Loki didn’t catch up with us before we made it to the wormhole.” 

Bruce looked even more worried than Thor. “…Do you think the Grandmaster might really execute him?”

Thor considered that possibility for one solemn second, then shook the dark thought away. “Who, Loki? Never. He’ll twist his way out of there, I have no doubt. I bet he’s stealing some other ship and racing to join us even as we speak.” 

“I hope so,” Bruce said. “I know you guys kind of hate each other sometimes but, you just got him back after thinking he was dead, right? I know you don’t want to lose him again.”

Thor let that sink in for a minute, realizing that of course Banner was right. He had wanted to be completely _done_ with his brother, and he still felt like Loki had wronged him, taken something from him—but after getting a bit of revenge and leaving Loki behind, Thor now felt like he owed Loki an apology. _Damn it._

_Of course_ he owed Loki an apology. 

“Unbelievable,” Valkyrie muttered accusingly at Thor. “I see that look in your face—you’re going to make up with him, aren’t you? You’re actually going to kiss-and-make-up with your awful little rat of a brother.” 

“First chance I get,” Thor resolved. “Except probably not with any actual kissing.” 

Bruce snorted and giggled, Valkyrie had a ‘yeah right’ look on her face, and Thor finished his beer.

Val promptly handed him another—and fetched a third beer for Banner, and a fifth or sixth or seventh bottle of spirits for herself. 

By the end of that third round, Bruce was tipsy, and Tipsy Bruce made the clingy, climbing-on-Thor Bruce from earlier look like an amateur. 

Bruce was all over the God of Thunder now, wrapped around him in a sideways hug, then hanging over his back with his arms around Thor’s neck. Sober Bruce might have been a little embarrassed by this behavior, but Thor didn’t mind it at all--

Thor _loved_ it: the closeness, the little thrill of happiness that seemed to emanate from Banner whenever they were close together. And being slightly under the influence also meant Banner was more emotional, as was often the case with humans—and the more emotional Bruce became, the more he reminded Thor of the Hulk. Guiltily, Thor wondered if he needed to spend more time worrying about whether he should consider Bruce and the Hulk to be separate people or not—at the moment, he was leaning towards _not._ The Hulk was Bruce, somehow.

Finally, after several hours of steadily intoxicating herself, a bottle slipped from Valkyrie’s hand and shattered on the floor, and after standing frozen with her empty hand in the air for the space of a blink, Valkyrie collapsed.

“Oh noooo,” Bruce whispered, from where he was sitting now on Thor’s lap, his cheek resting against Thor’s collarbone. “Is she okay?”

Thor set Bruce aside so he could check on Val. As he leaned over, her arm snaked up, her fingers catching the collar of his shirt and yanking it down. “Pick me up,” she mumbled. 

“Here you go,” Thor complied, hauling her to her feet. She looked perfectly composed, confident, ready to kick anyone’s ass, and for a split-second Bruce was fooled into thinking she was sober—then her eyes rolled back, and she promptly fell over again. 

This time, she was out. Thor debated leaving her where she’d landed, but decided there was probably a more comfortable place on the ship for her to sleep it off. With incredibly little effort, he scooped her up and slung her over his shoulder. 

“Hey don’t forget me,” said Bruce in a plaintive voice, reaching an arm over Thor’s other shoulder. He turned his body towards Thor’s chest and gave a little half-jump, probably as a joke, but Thor went with it. 

“All right, come on,” he said, making a little ‘get up here’ gesture with his hand and squatting a little so that in one motion, Bruce’s torso was up over his shoulder. Thor stood and shifted his weight a bit, and Bruce found himself being carried in an identical position to Val—Bruce gave the unconscious girl a ridiculous grin behind Thor's back, even though she wasn’t awake to appreciate it. 

With Valkyrie balanced over his left shoulder and Bruce on his right, Thor set off to find some beds.


	23. Quantum electrodynamics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Events on the Orgy Ship, Part Four. (seriously this is taking forever!!! *squashes Bruce and Thor together* Do your thing, you adorable ones!!!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, I have never seen two people more terrified of each other than Natalie Portman and Chris Hemsworth.  
> oh, and here's a little fun fact--according to Marvel, Asgardians are almost three times denser/heavier than humans so our boy Thor weighs in at 640 pounds. Which I think is hilarious--but does anybody know if that stat applies to Thor from the movies, or is it just a comic books thing?? Oh well.
> 
> Also--there's a slightly dark moment or two in this chapter so you might want to keep your coping mechanisms handy...

Thor didn’t find any beds. What he found was a large circular room adjoining the shower and closet area, with a ring of comfy-looking cushioned lounges surrounding what must have been a dance floor. Thor glanced up and frowned: the ceiling of the room was a giant mirror. 

Valkyrie stirred, stiffening as she realized she was being carried, and Thor hurried to set both her and Bruce down on one of the lounges. 

“You all right?” Thor asked as Val’s eyes opened. 

“You just passed out,” Bruce informed her, leaning back comfortably into the cushions. 

“I’m fine, just need another drink,” Val mumbled. She stood up, lurching forward, and Thor put a hand on her shoulder to steady her. She automatically brought her own hand up and wrapped it over his wrist, but didn’t follow through with whatever violent throwing move was probably supposed to come next. 

“Bar’s closed for tonight,” Thor told her. “Bruce and I are tired, right Bruce?”

“So tired,” Bruce agreed eagerly. 

“But I didn’t…” she swayed on her feet, her eyes blinking unevenly. “Drink all the drinks.” 

“You can drink all the drinks tomorrow,” Thor assured her. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” said Val. She looked around, and seemed to realize where she was. “Bedroom. Good idea. Try to sleep.”

“Wait, is this the bedroom?” Bruce asked. “Because there’s…not any beds in it…”

Valkyrie rolled her eyes so hard, her head rolled back in a woozy circle with them. “Blue button, over there,” she indicated. 

“oh man… I really hate all the buttons on this spaceship…” Bruce whined, tension rising in his voice.

Thor pushed the button, and the ‘dance floor’ surface split in a zig-zag pattern down the middle and retracted, revealing one giant, circular bed, recessed into the floor. It was heaped with giant pillows and was somehow managing to look not the least bit sleazy. As the bed appeared, the lighting in the room instantly dimmed, changing from the standard spaceship fluorescent white to a muted purple glow—but not a _cold_ purple; more like the warm gold of a dimmed incandescent bulb seen through a plum-colored lampshade. If this was mood lighting, the mood was, ‘let’s get comfortable’. 

“oh, I get it,” Bruce laughed. “Bedroom. Because the whole room turns into a bed.” 

“And I’m sleeping on it,” Val declared, and began pulling off her wrist guards. “Don’t worry,” she said in response to Bruce’s widened eyes. “There’s space for twenty people in here. I’ll take one side and you boys can share the other.” With her now-naked hand, she reached out and patted Bruce’s cheek. 

“Or we could—” Thor started, but was cut short by the tip of a knife against the underside of his chin. 

“I said I’ll take one side, and you’ll stay on the other,” Val repeated. “And if either of you try to touch me, I’ll peel you like an apple.” 

She lowered her blade, slipped it back into a hidden sheath in her boot, and then promptly took her boots off. 

“…I was going to say,” Thor continued, as some part of his brain tried to inform him that he was watching her get undressed, “we could just let you sleep here by yourself, if you’d prefer to be alone.” 

“Yeah, we don’t want to impose…” Bruce added. 

She pointed at the bed. “My side,” she said, and then pointed across the room. “Your side. I won’t say it again.” She started to unbuckle her armor, ignoring both of their dumbfounded expressions as she hauled her breastplate off right in front of them—she was wearing a black tank top underneath it, noticeably dirtied with sweat.

“I’m gonna shower,” she announced, tucking her discarded armor under her arm. “And I actually know _how to use_ the shower in here, so, don’t wait up.” She gave them a smirk, spun on her now-barefoot heel, and stalked off. 

Bruce and Thor looked at each other. 

“She’s so amazing,” Bruce breathed. “She was like barely even slurring her words—how’d she metabolize all that alcohol so fast? Is it like, an Asgardian thing?”

“She drinks as much as Volstagg,” Thor remarked. “I’ve no idea how she does it.” 

“Anyway we should probably do what she said…” Bruce trailed off, eyes wandering down to ‘their side’ of the bed. 

“Yes, definitely,” Thor agreed, crossing his arms over his chest. “She was pretty clear about the, ehm, sleeping arrangements. Best to avoid upsetting her.” 

Bruce snuck a shy smile up at Thor, without turning his head. “…You know what the weirdest thing is, about all this?” he asked after a tiny pause. 

Thor scrunched up his face. “Let’s see, alien planet, stolen spaceship, those spinning things in the shower, room with a bed for a floor and a mirror for a ceiling—” Thor glanced up again, and Bruce did too. 

“Oh hey, check it out,” Bruce said to their reflection. 

“So, I don’t know… all of it?” Thor concluded. 

Bruce laughed. “Yeah, all of it--but the _weirdest_ thing, to me, is how _not weird_ it is, with you.” 

Thor met his eyes, surprised. 

“…Can we just sit here, for a minute?” Bruce asked.

“Of course,” Thor said, and sat down next to Banner, relaxing. 

“You know, I’m not usually a touchy-feely kind of person,” Bruce recounted. “I mean, I’m not uh, a hugger. I understand how physical contact works, it’s just, not usually easy for me. But with you I can’t help myself. And part of my brain is telling me that this should stress me out, but…it doesn’t. This whole idea,” Bruce said, voice going soft, “of you and Hulk, and me and you… I don’t know if it’s _his_ attraction to you that I’m feeling, or if it’s my own, or if you’re just something we both agree about--I don’t even care. All I know is that I feel it. It’s—I know this is ridiculous—it’s like electricity.” 

Thor cocked his head. “Sounds about right,” he said. “You know, considering that thing I do…” he held up both hands, made a little ‘bursting’ motion with them, accompanied by a pitiful attempt at a sound effect: “ _Bprrgh!_ ” 

“huh,” Bruce said with a half-laugh, and then the explanation occurred to him, struck his brain, quite appropriately, like a bolt from the blue. “Lightning.”

“…And that sort of loud noise that goes with it…” Thor added. 

“Oh my god,” Bruce leaned forward, hands gripping the sides of his head as if to prevent his brain from escaping. “You can generate gamma radiation.” 

“Umm…” Thor looked a little uncertain.

“With the lightning—lightning’s a source of gamma radiation!” Bruce looked up at Thor, eyes wild. “No wonder the other guy is attracted to you--exposure to gamma radiation makes the Hulk stronger!”

“oh,” said Thor, taken aback. 

Bruce launched into a rant. “And it’s no wonder I’ve been stuck to you all day like a freaking magnet—I can’t believe I haven’t studied this—I never even thought about it before! The electric field—the lightning—can you control if it’s negative or positive?”

Thor wanted to be helpful here, but couldn’t quite keep the confused look off his face. “Positive, um… do you mean…can I call lightning when I’m…happy?” Thor was fairly certain that was not what Banner meant, so he winced as he asked it. 

Banner shook his head. “The current, it goes one of two ways, right?” he motioned frantically with his hands, and started to stumble over his words, his brain moving too fast for his mouth to keep up. “It either goes this way, or it goes that way! And like 95% of the time it goes this way, but, when it goes _that_ way, it’s way more powerful. And so you have this huge electric field, and these runaway electrons are just speeding across it—so if you control the electric field, which, _you do_ , I mean, how else do you explain yourself?!” Bruce broke off into a short laugh, once again covering his face with his hands. “I don’t have a PhD in quantum electrodynamics,” he muttered to himself. “I mean sure, nuclear physics covers the basics but of _all the things_ —why don’t I have a PhD in quantum electrodynamics!?”

“I think Jane had one of those,” Thor spoke up. 

“Jane— _Foster?!?_ ” Bruce looked like he’d seen a ghost. He stared blankly at Thor for a minute. 

“Yes, you know, she’s a famous astrophysicist on earth,” Thor reminded him. 

“Yeah Thor, I know who Dr. Jane Foster is. I mean, I’ve met her. She’s totally brilliant,” Bruce had the craziest expression on his face. “I just remember thinking, when I first saw her, that if I were ten years younger I would have had a crush on her.”

“She is very beautiful—”

“She is very _smart_ ,” said Bruce.

“Yes,” Thor smiled. “Almost as smart as you.”

Bruce gave him a creeped-out look. “Do you have any idea how weird it is, for me to be attracted to you, knowing that you were romantically involved with _Dr. Jane Foster?_ ”

“So we both have a lot of respect and appreciation for some of the same women,” Thor noted. “I don’t see anything wrong with that.” 

“It’s gotta be the gamma rays,” Bruce muttered to himself. “The other guy must be able to sense that you have the ability to give him a power-up.” 

“It was more like he sensed my ability to give him a backrub,” Thor said amiably, having had enough of Banner’s theorizing. 

“You gave the Hulk a backrub?!?” Bruce looked shocked. 

“Well, he seemed like he needed one,” Thor explained. Bruce had no idea what to say to that. Thor blinked and thought of something. “Would you like me to—” he reached for Bruce’s shoulder.

“No!” Bruce shied away. “Knowing you did that for the other guy makes it too weird!” 

“Why?” Thor wondered, looking slightly hurt. 

“I thought of something else,” Bruce admitted guiltily. “Granted, this one’s a stretch, but—New Mexico.” 

“Oh, New Mexico!” Thor exclaimed brightly, clearly having fond memories of the place. Then his face fell. “…I don’t get it.”

“The accident, that unleashed the Hulk, happened in New Mexico. And you were in New Mexico when you first came to earth and got your powers back, right? So, don’t ask me how he does it, but, I bet the Hulk can tell that you’re from New Mexico. He can sense it. It’d be like going to a foreign country and spotting someone in a crowd wearing a t-shirt from your high school.” 

“…I didn’t go to high school,” Thor reminded him. 

“I’m saying that to the Hulk, you’d seem familiar. You’re from the same place as him. More than any of the other Avengers, you’d remind him of home.” 

Thor sighed. “Listen, Banner, maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s all science and magnets and whatever and that’s why the Hulk and I got together.” He turned his face to Banner, with the slightest glow of a smile. “Or, maybe we just liked each other? Would that be so bad?”

“Ha,” said Bruce weakly. “Heh—hah,” he laughed, a broken sort of sound. “Science and magnets and _whatever_ ,” he repeated, and then he just sort of _lost it_ for a while—making these ridiculous little chuckling/snuffling noises into his hands while his shoulders flinched forward and downward. And then he took a breath, and sat up. “No,” he decided, and met Thor’s eyes. “That wouldn’t be so bad at all.” 

“Well, good,” Thor said. “That’s good.” 

“It’s great,” Bruce agreed. “It’s perfect.”

“We’ve both had a long day,” Thor mentioned. 

“A really long, really weird day,” Banner agreed.

“…Can we go to bed now?” Thor tossed his head towards the giant pillows.

“Sure we can,” Banner stood up, stretched his arms, filling his lungs with air. “Let’s do it.” 

Thor kicked off his slippers and stepped down onto the mattress, his feet sinking into the puffy duvet. “Hm.” He bent his knees a few times, as if he were testing a trampoline. “It’s pretty bouncy.” 

“Oh my god—please don’t make me jump on the bed with you,” Bruce pleaded. 

“It’d be fun,” Thor pointed out. “Hulk would love it.” 

“Yeah I’m sure he would, and then he’d jump a little bit too high and tear a hole in the hull of this ship and we’d get blown out into hyperspace and then, who’d be left to fight your sister, hm? Nobody.” 

“You worry too much,” Thor said happily, bouncing a few more times for the heck of it, before settling into a pile of pillows. He cleared a space beside him and patted it. “Come here.” 

“Fine.” Bruce unwrapped himself from the fluffy bathrobe he’d been wearing all evening, abandoned his slippers next to Thor’s, and managed to stumble across the bed—he felt like a drunk man wading through a swamp, a swamp of pillows and super-plush comforters. Finally he dropped to his knees in the spot Thor’d made for him, found his way under the blankets, and pulled up a pillow that wasn’t too bulky. 

Bruce sighed as he stretched out on his back, covers up to his shoulders, realizing just how amazing the mattress underneath him actually was—and just as he was getting comfortable, he made the mistake of opening his eyes, looking up—

He’d forgotten about the mirror, which now showed him an image he wasn’t prepared to deal with: Thor was stretched out next to him, still on top of the blankets, elbows up and hands folded behind his head. And next to that sprawled-out, godlike body, Bruce was a very _small_ little bundle under the covers. The image provoked a stab of panic. He fought it, repressed it, turned his face and looked at Thor so he didn’t have to look at the mirror. “Thor,” he blurted out. “You’re huge.” 

“What?” Thor looked over at him. 

“I mean it, you’re freaking enormous. Look up.” 

Thor looked, and frowned, considering their reflection. His body did look _big,_ he supposed, spread out as he was, while Banner was a tiny lump buried under the covers beside him. Something about the size difference seemed wrong—of course it was wrong; next to the Hulk, Thor was the small one. Now it was all backwards. 

Thor scrunched up his face in a scowl, trying to reconcile this pretty major discrepancy. With the Hulk, the size difference thing had ended up turning him on—he’d gotten off to it, quite spectacularly. Thor felt a little disappointed as he realized that the appeal of it just _didn’t work_ if Thor had to be the larger one—it was actually kind of creepy this way, now that he thought about it. He sighed. “Sorry,” he muttered to Banner, and he really did sound sorry. 

“Don’t be sorry,” Bruce said. “Just, be careful? I mean, if we’re going to cuddle up, or, I don’t know.” 

“I am a lot heavier than you,” Thor mentioned, unhelpfully. 

“640 pounds,” Bruce recalled from Thor’s file. “That’s like… almost four times my weight.”

“Don’t worry,” Thor said cheerfully. “I won’t hurt you.” 

Bruce felt that feeling of panic again, like a pulse, in his throat, in his chest. “I know,” he said, and told himself, nearly shouted at himself, that he really _did_ know that. He _knew_ it. _I’m safe. We’re safe._

“Maybe get under the covers,” Banner suggested.

“Ok,” Thor agreed, and Bruce shut his eyes to avoid watching him move in the mirror. 

“I hate that mirror,” Bruce muttered. The duvet rustled, the mattress jostling barely at all as Thor got comfortable. He heard Thor let out a nice, slow breath, and opened his eyes to the truly astonishing sight of Thor’s face on a pillow across from his own, smiling at him. 

Bruce had one of those bizarre, this-can’t-be-happening moments, where he felt out of place, like this couldn’t really be his life. “Thor, what am I doing here,” he blurted out. “With you.”

Thor shrugged. “Whatever you want.” 

“I don’t—” Bruce felt lost. Lost and small. _What the hell is wrong with me,_ he scolded himself. _It’s just Thor._ He mustered up the courage to reach out and rest his hand on the side of Thor’s face, on his ear, on his jaw. _Good. This is good._

Thor sensed a quiver in Banner’s hand, reached up to cover Banner’s hand with his own. “…Are you all right?” Thor asked. 

Bruce didn’t know how to answer that, didn’t know what he was supposed to do. He realized he was trembling. He hoped Thor couldn’t tell. _Not good._

Thor scooted closer and decided whatever emotional crisis Banner was having could probably be cured with some cuddling. He reached out with one big friendly arm to pull Banner close, and that turned out to be a mistake, 

Because the instant Thor’s arm wrapped around him, Bruce felt trapped, felt _held down,_ and couldn’t find a single word to articulate that, so he clenched his eyes shut and curled in on himself and the Hulk threw Thor across the room. 

“Whoa!” Thor sprang up from the pile of cushions he’d landed in, over against the wall. “Hulk?! Are you back?!” 

The covers were heaving, in the place where Bruce had been—but whatever was there, while it was clearly much bigger than Banner, was much too small to be the Hulk.

“Thor?” called Hulk’s voice, confused. 

Thor scrambled over, realizing that this must be Bruce and the Hulk caught in the middle of a transformation—he seemed to be simultaneously growing and shrinking. It looked horribly painful, the turmoil, the flux of it. He was halfway to Hulk, halfway to Banner. Hulk had told Thor he couldn’t do that. Banner must have been fighting hard to stay present.

“I’m here, Hulk, you’re ok,” Thor assured him. “Everything’s ok.”

“Friend stay,” said Hulk, blearily. 

“I’m staying,” Thor said. 

“Good.” Hulk grunted. “Hulk sleepy.”

“You had a couple drinks,” Thor explained. “You can go to sleep if you want.”

Hulk had been up on his knees and elbows under the covers; now he collapsed onto his stomach with a sigh, looking up at Thor. Wordlessly he stretched out a greenish hand, turned it palm-up. 

Thor swallowed, reached for the Hulk’s hand, and stroked the inside of his wrist. 

“ _Sun’s going down,_ ” Thor said. “ _Sun’s getting real low._ ”

And this time, it worked. 

The half-Hulk shrunk until he was completely human, completely Banner, in his now slightly-stretched-out purple pajamas, breathing in short gasps against the pillow. Thor could hardly believe it. 

“It worked!” he laughed, thrilled. “Banner, the lullaby, I did it--it finally worked!” 

Bruce had recovered enough to speak, and he sat up, anger in his eyes. “You held me down” Bruce accused, voice rough. “Never hold me down—not in a bed, not in a situation where I’m—”

“Hey, wow, no,” Thor said, shaking his head. “I didn’t—”

“I know you didn’t mean to.” Bruce rubbed his hands over his face. His pajamas had been stretched out at the neck and hung more loosely on his shoulders now, but they hadn’t torn. “It’s my fault. I’ve got issues. I’m not good at this.” 

Slowly, Thor realized what that probably meant, and how sad that was. He remembered the Hulk, snuggled in bed, carefully asking Thor if Jane had been afraid of him. That had seemed like such a weird question, such a strangely horrible question.

“Banner… I’m sorry. Have you ever—” Thor caught himself, not wanting to push for information. 

Banner answered his question anyway. “Been in a relationship? Yes. I’ve been intimate with three women. Never with a man.”

“…three women at once?” Thor asked, frowning.

“No, three total, in my life,” Banner clarified, unamused. 

“How old are you on earth, like… forty?”

“Ha,” said Banner weakly. “I’m closer to 50. Here’s the thing, it’s… look, I’ve never been with someone who could overpower me. I know I’m not a strong guy, ok? But the women I’ve known, at least I didn’t have to worry about any of them pinning me.”

“Black Widow could have—”

“I know,” Bruce cut him off. “Why do you think I was so terrified of her? I couldn’t be intimate with Natasha—I fled the _planet_ to get away from her.” 

“That’s…” Thor grimaced. “I won’t tell her.”

“Thanks,” said Banner. 

“Anyway it’s funny the Hulk doesn’t have your issues with intimacy,” Thor plowed ahead, oblivious to the fact that he was bulldozing a minefield. 

“Yeah, that’s, that’s kind of the whole point,” Bruce explained, exasperated. “The Hulk’s _the strongest there is._ He can’t be overpowered. Can’t be held down. Can’t be beaten into submission. So he doesn’t have half the problems that I have—and you know what? I’m happy for him. It’s a miracle—at least some part of me can enjoy a human relationship.”

There was a beat as Thor tried to absorb that, tried to fathom the tragedy of it. 

Banner sighed and sunk back down into the covers, tugged the blankets up over his shoulder, and made a face. “I mean, if you can consider fucking an alien god that you won as a prize in a wrestling match to be a ‘human relationship’. Couple of blurry lines there.” 

Thor stifled a laugh. “Hey, it wasn’t like that.” 

“Yeah ok. Whatever you need to tell yourself.” 

There was the sound of a door being opened, a footstep across the room. 

Valkyrie cleared her throat. She was wearing a sort of oversized gray nightshirt she’d found in the closet, and was toweling off her hair. The white war paint had been washed off her face. “…You boys screwing each other yet?” she asked. 

“Nope,” Thor replied. “We’re not doing that tonight.” 

Val shrugged. “Your loss.” She tossed the towel away and jumped down into the bed, not caring in the least that her shirt came up and revealed a little of her bare thighs as she did so. She found her way to pile of pillows directly across the bed from Bruce and Thor, and settled down. “If you change your minds, just try to be quiet about it,” she grumbled. “I’m a light sleeper.”

“Okay,” Bruce said to her, across the circle. “…Goodnight.” 

Though Bruce couldn’t see it, she smiled at that. “Goodnight,” she replied. 

Thor wriggled back down under the covers next to Bruce. “So,” Bruce whispered to him. “Not tonight?” 

“Probably not,” Thor replied. “Is that okay?” 

“Yeah, I guess. Sorry I freaked out. I did sort of want to…”

“Me too,” Thor acknowledged. “But it’s fine. We don’t have to.”

“Maybe tomorrow?” Bruce asked hopefully. 

Thor looked at him fondly and repressed the urge to ruffle his hair. _Maybe tomorrow_ —at one point the Hulk had said pretty much that same thing. “Okay,” Thor agreed. 

“I can hear you talking,” Valkyrie warned them in a flat voice, not raising her head from its pillow. 

Thor lowered his voice even more. “…I’m going to turn over this way,” he whispered, rolling to his other side, offering Banner the wall of his back. “If you want to cuddle up, I’m all yours.” 

“Thanks,” Bruce whispered back. “I think I’d, I’d really like that.” 

Bruce inched closer, reached out and pressed his hand to the blade of Thor’s shoulder. Thor leaned back into his touch, just the tiniest bit, just enough so that Bruce could feel the warmth of him through the fabric of his red pajamas. 

The energy, the connection between them, was the realest thing that Bruce had ever felt. Without thinking he dug his hand under the covers, down to Thor’s waist, found the end of the shirt and snaked his hand up under it, so he could run the heel of his palm up Thor’s spine.

“Mm,” said Thor appreciatively, a little surprised by how quickly and unhesitatingly Banner had stuck his hand inside his shirt. 

“I can hear you ‘Mm’-ing,” Valkyrie chastised. “Final warning.”

“Sorry!” Thor called to her, raising his head an inch or two off his pillow. Banner nestled closer against his back, repressing a tiny chuckle.

Bruce’s hand came to rest between Thor’s shoulders, the hem of his shirt snagged in the crease of Bruce’s arm. Bruce snuggled in until he could press his forehead against the nape of Thor’s neck, and goddamn if that wasn’t nearly as intimate as he’d ever been with Betty, who’d been the only woman in his past who’d mattered. 

This was different, with Thor. This was so different. _It’s a new experience,_ Thor had said to him, back on that crazy planet. _That’s a good thing!_

As he fell asleep he replayed his day in his mind—Tony’s too-tight pants. Hugging Thor in that alley. Loki in chains. Kissing Thor on the bridge as the ship lurched towards the wormhole, thinking that might be the last thing he ever did. Then drinking with Thor and Val, learning that Hulk had made a friend and owned a slave. And now this bizarrely peaceful moment, all the cells of his body pulled by the current Thor didn’t know he controlled. 

_Science and magnets and whatever_ … Bruce thought, and drifted off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure time--I discovered the connection between lightning and gamma radiation on wikipedia, but I am not the first fangirl to mention it in a fanfic. Not to give too much away, but here is a link to the best Hulk fanfic on the internet, even if it's Tony/Bruce instead of Bruce/Thor:
> 
> [ Irreconcilable Differences ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/592408/chapters/1066555)
> 
> millions of thanks to mayonegg for recommending that fic to me, and also millions of thanks to [ Hiver_Frost_Elf ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hiver_Frost_Elf/pseuds/Hiver_Frost_Elf) for teaching me how to add a link in here... ^^;; she has written some awesome Ragnarok fics too, which you should totally check out! :D


	24. Loki on top

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and the gladiators escape from Sakaar!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh, warnings here for Frostmaster, Thorki, maybe ever Korgki?? (Nah man, they're just friends). 
> 
> oh, and there's a mention in here of something from Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2. If you didn't see that movie, no big deal. X) ENJOY!!

Meanwhile, back on Sakaar, several hours before Bruce and Thor managed to get comfortable on the Commodore, Loki was finally freed from the obedience disk.

“…You do seem like you’re in desperate need of leadership,” Loki surmised, surveying the rag-tag bunch of gladiators who had come to his unexpected rescue. 

“Why thank you,” Korg said sincerely, taking no offense. “I’m Korg, by the way. This is Miek.”

A little alien covered in an exoskeleton of blades waved a scissor-like limb in greeting, and Loki nodded his head towards them. 

“So. That ship?” Loki gestured at the Supercruiser docked behind them. “Might not have everything we need. Four of you—you four—” Loki pointed at one group of intelligent-seeming fighters—“get down to the medical station and tell the nurses there’s going to be an evacuation. Have them pack up all the supplies they can and then get the nurses, and the supplies, onto the ship.” 

“Medical supplies, got it,” one of the selected gladiators replied. “How will we get into the—”

Loki handed her (it sounded like a her) an access card. “Swipe this at the door. It will work.” 

The tasked gladiators took off on their mission at a trot. 

“Next—if there’s going to be a large group of evacuees, we might need more food than whatever the ship has stocked. I need about ten of you to get down to the kitchens and pack up of every last crate of the Grandmaster’s precious plant-based foods.”

“Plant-based foods?” muttered the gladiators, sounding shocked. “What’s that, like… vegetables? I haven’t seen a vegetable in y—"

“Grains, fruits, vegetables, yes,” Loki cut him off. “This tower is the only place you can find them on this wretched planet. We’re going to close the wormhole behind us so there’s no telling how long we’ll be in space. People do get hungry.” 

“Do we get a key-card too?” wondered one of the group of ten. 

Loki shook his head. “It’ll be easy enough to blast your way in. The kitchen has only two guards. Go!” 

Ten of the gladiators tromped off to pack up all the food. 

“Now then—I have a special job for someone to do. Would any of you call yourself a sniper?” Loki put his hands on his hips and looked around at the remaining crowd of fighters, who mostly looked back at him with blank stares. “…Are any of you especially talented at killing people from a distance?” Loki rephrased, wishing for the millionth time that he still had Barton under his control.

One gladiator raised a paw. “I can do that,” the creature grunted. 

“Oh yeah, he’s amazing at that!” Korg confirmed, voice light. 

“Good—I need to you to eliminate the Grandmaster’s bodyguard, _Topaz_ ,” Loki said, derision in his tone as he spoke her name. Loki and Topaz’s opinions of each other were abysmally low. 

“Kill Topaz,” roger-ed the designated sniper. 

Just then the Grandmaster’s projected image appeared over the city, the Grandmaster’s voice bellowing over them: “Loyal Sakaarians, grieve with me now,” said the Grandmaster, sounding honestly choked-up. “I have just received confirmation that my eternally faithful Captain of the Guards, Topaz, has met her demise in a horrible spaceship accident. This is just, just tragic news. I hereby declare three days of mourning.” 

Loki quirked an eyebrow at the sniper, who shrugged. 

“That wasn’t me,” the creature admitted. 

Loki shrugged. “In any case, your mission’s complete. The next thing is—” 

“Sorry, a minute ago…did you say we’ll close up the wormhole?” Korg raised his hand and asked politely. “How’re we gonna do that?”

Loki grinned. “We’re going to blow it up.” He looked up and around him suddenly. “And that’s not the only thing.” 

The gladiators were looking at him in dumbfounded awe, which Loki liked just fine. He smiled at his new friends. “How would you like to bring down this tower?”

“Yeah,” Korg spoke up for the group. “What do you say, guys? We’re up for that!” 

“And,” Loki paused for effect, “the arena.” 

“…the arena… that’s built pretty strong, man.” Korg sounded doubtful. “You think we can do it?”

“I know we can.” Loki laid out the plan. “There’s an elevator that goes to the other side of the planet, where there’s a charging station full of batteries. The rest of you need to go there, and bring as many of the canisters back here as you can. Set up about a dozen around the arena, and store the rest on the ship.” 

“Batteries are worth a lot of money these days,” one of the gladiators grunted excitedly. “I heard these shiny golden people called the Sovereign recently paid—”

“The Sovereign race, yes,” Loki interrupted. “Don’t worry, I can handle the ‘shiny golden people’. And if you want money, I’ll get us a much better deal than they’d offer.”

“Um,” Korg raised his hand again. “Won’t loading the ship with valuable and highly pilferable batteries make us a target for all kinds of space pirates and such?” 

“It might,” Loki agreed. “But we’re going to use a lot of them to close up that wormhole on our way out.”

“All right,” Korg said appreciatively. “Ehm, loving the plan, sounds really good, but, there’s one guy who could stop us,” 

“The Beloved Champion?” Loki’s smile reached his eyes. “Fear not, he’s long gone.” 

“No, not him, actually,” corrected Korg, gently. “I was thinking of, you know… the Grandmaster.”

A worried murmur resonated around the remaining gladiators. “He could stop us,” muttered one of them. “Make us run in place for a hundred years never getting anywhere!” 

Loki shouldn’t have been surprised: even though the revolutionaries had gotten this far, a mere stone’s throw away from escape, still they feared the power of the ancient being who’d mastered them all. 

Loki waved a replica of himself into existence. “This copy of me will lead you to the batteries, show you where to set them up and how to rig them to detonate. And don’t worry—I’ll handle the Grandmaster myself.” 

“How you going to do that?” Korg wondered. 

The corner of Loki’s mouth twitched. “I think I have something he wants.” 

“Hmm,” Korg considered, those stony eyes suddenly compelled to sweep over Loki, down and up. “Hey man, can I talk to you for a second?” Korg clamped a rocky hand on Loki’s shoulder, voice full of sudden concern. “Over here, like, away from the guys for a minute?”

Loki allowed Korg to turn him away from the group, intrigued by what advice the Kronan might have to offer. 

“This thing you have, that maybe he wants?” Korg asked quietly. “Is it something to do with, like, maybe a blue drink the Grandmaster gave you?” 

“Yes it is,” Loki hissed, annoyed beyond any attempt at denial. 

Korg looked at him with the deepest sympathy. “You know the effects of that stuff just get worse the longer it sits in your system?” 

Loki rolled his eyes. “oh, I’ve noticed,” he assured Korg. 

The Kronan shook his head. “You don’t have to do this to yourself, man. You may think you want to, but, he’s like, on another level when it comes to this stuff, man.” 

Loki almost laughed. “So am I,” he said to Korg, his eyes flashing like ice. 

He stepped back, away from Korg’s friendly hand on his shoulder, away from this attempted intervention. He sent the rest of the gladiators off on their mission, to finish the plans Loki’d already started for the demolition of the tower and the arena. 

And then Loki went to find the Grandmaster. 

***

“…I can’t believe she’s gone,” the Grandmaster was ranting, pacing back and forth, visibly distressed. “Topaz, my faithful, my loyal Topaz.” 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Loki said, cordially. He centered himself in front of the Grandmaster, planted his feet and clasped his hands behind his back. 

The Grandmaster glanced up at him. “Loki? What are you doing here?”

“I heard the announcement about Topaz and figured you’d be upset. Came to offer my condolences.” 

“That’s sweet but, you know I’m still mad at you, right? You failed me today, Loki, failed in a pretty big way. There might need to be some consequences for that.” 

Loki met his eyes. “I am…so sorry,” he said again. “Please. Let me make it up to you.”

“Oh— _oh._ Well. As tempting as that is, I uh, I really don’t know. With Topaz gone, I don’t have—”

“You have me,” Loki consoled him softly. 

“Do I? Hm. Well, I just don’t know about that.” The Grandmaster folded one arm across his chest, and rested his chin on the palm of his other hand, studying Loki in a plainly negative light. 

Loki gave him the merest smile. “I would love to show you where my true loyalty lies,” he offered. “If you’ll let me.” 

“Hmm.” The Grandmaster wasn’t convinced. “You do still fascinate me, but,” 

“Take me to the back room,” Loki lifted his chin. “And I’ll show you. The thing you saw inside me before, which you found _so interesting_ that you blotted it from your mind so you could have the pleasure of discovering it all over again—I’m ready to let you see it.” 

The Grandmaster blinked at him. “What, right now!?” he asked, gesturing around the room, at the city outside the window, where the plumes of smoke from multiple spaceship crashes could be seen among the heaps of trash. 

“What better time?” Loki smiled. “Take a break from this… stress.” 

“Ha.” The Grandmaster’s demeanor suddenly changed, his posture shifting. “You know, I think you’re right,” he declared, rotating his hand in a lazy circle from his wrist. “Let this mess sort itself out. I need to relax, get my mind off this tragic, tragic day.” He looked over his shoulder at the golden ladies, who stood posed holding large laser cannons. “Ladies? Wait for me in the safehouse, okay?”

Without a word, they cat-walked away from their posts, still clutching their oversized weapons.

The Grandmaster had a sort of a universal controller for everything in the tower, and he waved it now—and Loki found himself back in that dizzying place, that bizarrely crafted gap between dimensions that seemed formed of time itself. It bothered Loki a little that they hadn’t used the doors. He hoped that wouldn’t affect his exit. 

“Here we are,” The Grandmaster announced musically. “The ever-so-enticing back room, per your explicit request. So.” The Grandmaster wiggled his eyebrows, and his voice turned unmistakably naughty. “What do you have to show me?”

Loki lifted his hands away from his sides, palms out, a proud-of-himself smile on his face. “I’m a shapeshifter,” he confessed, and it sounded faintly like a brag.

The Grandmaster gave him a quizzical stare. “uh, yeah….and?” he asked, with a little side-to-side shake of his head. “Is that it? I mean, I already knew about that.” 

“And I can do this,” said Loki, and turned the Grandmaster into Thor. 

The Grandmaster looked down at himself in surprise, hands coming up to his chest, exploring the silvery armor that had abruptly replaced his blue-and-gold robes. “Oh, wow!” he exclaimed. “Wow.” He looked back up at Loki, beaming, and brushed strands of long blond hair from his eyes. “This is marvelous.” 

“You like that armor?” Loki asked, stepping in. 

“You know I do,” the Grandmaster enthused, giggling. “Feels so real.” Thor’s face was speaking with the Grandmaster’s voice, Loki realized with a pulse of annoyance. He’d have to fix that. 

Loki closed the distance between then, staring coolly into Thor’s eyes. For as much as Thor had loomed over him all his life, they’d actually always been the same height. It was easy to forget that, with Loki being slimmer and Thor being louder and heavier and generally taking up so much more space in the eyeballs of everyone everywhere. But Thor wasn’t taller. They were exactly even.

“Take it off,” Loki suggested in half a whisper. 

The Grandmaster fumbled at the armor, looking down again, golden hair falling across his face. “…Is there like a buckle or a zipper or something for this? How—” 

Loki grabbed Thor’s armor by one shoulder, where there was a clasp, and tore it away in one motion. The heavy cuirass fell to the floor. The red cape pooled around their feet. 

“Oh, yes. Mm,” the Grandmaster gasped, his hands groping at his now-bare chest and stomach. “I mean, nothing I haven’t seen before, what with the cameras in the Champion’s suite, but still-- This feels, very—oh yeah. I could get into this.”

“Then _get into_ it,” Loki instructed. “Let it work. Change your voice.”

“My voice?” The Grandmaster looked up, slightly startled. “Most people like my voice, but, sure, here goes:” he cleared his throat, lowered his voice, and looked squarely into Loki’s eyes. 

“Brother?” 

That wasn’t bad; the caution in his tone was very convincing. Very close to Thor’s voice, but not quite there. Loki wrapped a hand forcefully around the side of the Grandmaster’s neck, the way Thor always seemed to grab on to Loki—thumb on his cheek. He leaned in. 

“Lower.” 

The Grandmaster let his voice drop all the way down. 

“ _Brother._ ” 

“Yes,” Loki sucked air through his teeth. “That’s it.”

The Grandmaster had Thor’s form now but not his strength. Loki pushed him backwards easily, until his back hit the wall. With their faces close together, Loki nearly bit Thor’s lip, but held back, just a millimeter away. “Turn around,” he whispered, his words light as a feather against Thor’s mouth. 

“Wow,” the Grandmaster breathed, scrambling to obey. In his excitement he lost Thor's voice, straying back to his own particular cadence of speech. “You are _good_ at this. What’d we do in here last time? I feel like I would’ve wanted to remember something like this.”

Loki pressed in against his back, fingers settling on Thor’s hips. What a wonder it was, to hold Thor there, hold him just like that: by the hips. Loki tightened his grasp, felt Thor’s body tense in response, and then loosened his hands again, until he was just barely touching him. 

“Last time, you wanted to know what it would be like, if Thor was _accepting_ of something like this,” Loki remembered. “Now you can find out.” 

“Really? _I_ gave you this idea?” The Grandmaster marveled, giggling again. “Because I was just mentally congratulating _you_ , for giving this idea to _me:_ ” 

With that, the Grandmaster overrode the illusion, turning back into himself—and Loki felt a wave of magic wash over him, too, changing him—he looked down to discover himself in a stranger's body, heavier, older, clothed in robes similar to the Grandmaster’s, some sort of exotic white-furred pelt draped over his shoulders. He felt a stab, a tingle, right down the center of his lower lip. 

Loki had a trick for seeing himself in his mind’s eye, and saw he now had a shock of white hair, heavy eyes underlined in blue, and a bright spike of blue splitting his lip and chin, just like the Grandmaster. 

“You see,” drawled the Grandmaster, turning to face him, a lascivious grin on his face. “ _I have a brother too._ ” 

_Oh._ Loki hadn’t known that, and was temporarily surprised by the information. 

“Why Hello, Taneleer,” the Grandmaster was saying in a friendly tone, moving in to give Loki a hug. He clasped him around the arms, and before Loki could process the situation further, the Grandmaster devoured his mouth in a kiss. “It has been too long,” murmured the Grandmaster, pulling his mouth away but leaving their faces pressed together. He rubbed his nose against Loki’s. “I have just remembered how much I’ve missed matching up all of our little blue stripes.” 

Loki was recovering his wits. He didn’t know the man whose guise he wore, but the name seemed familiar. “Taneleer Tivan,” he remembered abruptly. “The Collector.” 

“Yeah that’s him,” the Grandmaster grinned. “You’ve heard of him! I always wondered if he was more famous than me. Anyway, shall we, em, proceed? I’ve figured out this new thing with tentacles that I think ol’ Taneleer would appreciate. Do you mind if we, em?” He gave Loki a look, and licked his lips. 

“…Did you say _tentacles?_ ” Loki asked blankly. 

“Oh, right, you’ll need another drink for that,” remarked the Grandmaster. “And so will I.” Suddenly he had a cocktail glass in each hand, both brimming with glowing purple liquid. 

“One of the purple ones,” Loki muttered, remembering something that blasted Valkyrie had said. The drink was pushed into his hand, and he looked down at it in dread. “…What are the purple ones?”

“Drink up and find out,” purred the Grandmaster, already draining his glass. “I think you might like it.” 

“No,” Loki declined, attempting a smile. “I think I might not.” 

Before anything else could happen, he pulled out the business card that Dr. Strange had given him, and sent it spinning on its edge in the air—where it promptly transformed into a sparking orange hoop, a portal—a way out. 

“Oh my my my,” mused the Grandmaster, instantly impressed. “How did you do that?”

“Hello again, Loki,” said Dr. Strange, appearing suddenly behind them and making them both jump. “You called?” 

“Wow, what are _you?_ ” The Grandmaster’s eyes lit up, his whole face brightening in astonishment at the sight of the unexpected visitor. “Aren’t you just the strangest thing?” 

“My name is, actually, Dr. Strange,” admitted the so-called ‘master of the mystic arts.’ 

“Loki, you brought me a present? What a treat! I am beyond amazed that you managed this—I do love a good surprise. Welcome, Dr. Strange. Welcome to Sakaar, the land of lost things. I am the Grandmaster. And you’re, yum, _so interesting_ , oh my, yes.” The Grandmaster licked his lips again, looking Dr. Strange up and down. 

“Oh-kay,” Dr. Strange said, and looked back at Loki, frowning. “Are you… the image is a bit blurry for me but, are you dressed up like _The Collector?_ What’s going on here?” 

“This is for you,” Loki said coolly, and passed the purple beverage to Dr. Strange. As soon as the glass was safely in the amateur wizard’s hand, Loki dove through the open portal. 

He landed right on the deck of the hangar, the Supercruiser in front of him, its engines firing up. 

The portal had zapped shut just as Loki’d gone through it. 

Loki laughed aloud in triumph, checking himself over, shaking off the nauseous feelings induced by the Grandmaster’s magic. He was himself again. He rubbed a hand over his chin. No sign of a blue stripe. 

“Hey man!” called Korg, from the gangplank of the ship. “We’ve got everything loaded! Are we ready to take off?” 

“Good work,” Loki called back, a huge smile on his face. “Now let’s get out of here.” 

The ginormous spaceship, loaded with medical supplies, food and power sources, lifted into the air, Loki and all the surviving gladiators on board. 

The makeshift bombs had been placed around the tower and the arena. Another salvo of them stood waiting in a cargo bay, ready to be deployed at the threshold of the Devil’s Anus. If this worked, the unfortunately named wormhole would be permanently shut. 

As the massive craft rose through the atmosphere, Loki took the captain’s seat on the bridge and gazed out at the surface of the planet, its colorful piles of lost things, its blotchy ponds of foul water—and the ostentatious tower and vast arena, those monuments of the Grandmaster’s rule over this chaotic, filthy place. 

Loki smiled. 

Before the ship climbed too far out of range, Loki brandished the universal controller for the tower that he'd stolen from the Grandmaster. He flipped it the air and caught it, looking smug (after all, he'd always been a good little thief). He thumbed a button and the giant holographic projection appeared over the city--but this time, it wasn't the Grandmaster: it was Loki. _"Citizens of Sakaar,"_ the projection announced in this pre-recorded message. _"My name is Loki. Odinson. Your revolution has overthrown the Grandmaster. The symbols of his tyranny, his tower and his arena, will be destroyed in five minutes."_

“I see you, um..." Korg’s voice intruded into Loki’s thoughts. 

“Yes?” Loki asked, turning to face him. 

“You’ve still got, the,” Korg looked apologetically at Loki, eyes raking him from head to toe, and back up, slower.

Loki sighed. 

“That means you didn’t actually…” Korg trailed off.

“Correct,” Loki informed him. “I didn’t.”

Korg shook his head. “You should really find somebody to take care of that for you,” he advised. “You know, some of the guys probably wouldn’t mind, eh, helping you out? If you’d like?”

“No thank you,” Loki enunciated. “I’ll be fine.”

“It’s good to keep a positive attitude, but, it’s only going to get worse.”

Loki’s brow furrowed. “Korg?” he asked, clearing his throat. “You seem to know a lot about the Grandmaster’s, um, drinks. What are the purple ones?”

“Oh, the purple ones,” Korg said, eyebrows high. “Yeh, those are special.”

“What do they do?” 

“You know, there’s like, all kinds of, aliens and things…” Korg began awkwardly. 

“Yes?” Loki asked, curious. 

“Well, some have like, stalks, or spores, and others have like, egg pouches, and some are really furry or have like a corkscrew-shaped—” 

“Life is very diverse,” Loki summarized, catching the drift of that ramble. “What’s the drink for?”

“Oh, you know, it… um… gives you what you need?” 

Loki narrowed his eyes. “How so?”

Korg made an uncomfortable face. “Like, if your partner has three or four of something, and you only have one or two of the corresponding things? And you need to, match up? It helps with that.” 

“Compatibility,” Loki realized. 

“Yeah!” Korg seemed relieved that Loki’d come up with an appropriate word. “That’s what it’s for. When you have all sorts of people on a planet like Sakaar, you know...”

“I see,” Loki said, and filed that bit of trivia away. 

They were coming up on the wormhole now, and it was time for Loki to say goodbye to Sakaar and the Grandmaster’s control over it. 

He had already set everything up with a little tablet, all he had to do was press the button. Even though he was currently heading for Asgard, ready to help Thor with some half-baked scheme to yell furiously at Hela until she went away or something, this particular moment in Loki’s life really wasn’t about Thor at all: this was all Loki. 

The God of Mischief (and maybe more than that) pushed the button, and the explosions he’d orchestrated bloomed up from the surface of Sakaar in spectacular globes of blinding white. The tower, shattering like glass. The arena, crumbling like dust. It was beautiful to see, from this vantage point high above it all. It was a work of art. The gladiators sent up a cheer around him on the bridge, overjoyed at witnessing the destruction of both their former prison and the palace of their former master. A couple of the rowdier ones actually came forward and dared to rustle up Loki with some congratulatory pats on the back, which startled him at first. 

A moment later, the Supercruiser plunged into the yawning wormhole, spitting a string of bombs in its wake. The whole ship shuddered at the subsequent explosion, and Loki checked the computer displays to verify—it had worked. The wormhole was sealing behind them, sling-shotting the Supercruiser forward through space. No one would ever get to Sakaar by that particular route ever again, and at this rate of acceleration they might even catch up to Thor, who’d had about a three-or-four-hour head start. 

As the celebrations of the gladiators simmered down in the background, Loki slouched sideways in his seat, content. It had been a particularly good day. He didn’t even care that he still had the Grandmaster’s drug in his blood. That sort of thing always had a way of working itself out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beloved readers, are you not entertained? Was this as good for you as it was for me? TELL ME!!!! (that's a Loki quote, right there)  
> ...what I mean to say is, leave a comment! :D I know y'all are reading this beast so, please, tell me what you think! I crave your feedback. *_*


	25. The lightning lab

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Events on the Orgy Ship, Part Five.

Bruce slept like a rock. Didn’t dream. Woke up to the artificial lights in the room brightening gradually to the warm white of a summer morning. Woke up still cuddled up with Thor, his arm around Thor’s waist, his hand as far as it could reach up inside Thor’s shirt. And woke up starving. 

Grimly he recalled that he’d turned halfway into the Hulk a little while before going to sleep and hadn’t eaten anything afterwards. His stomach was growling now, and his mouth tasted like some of those sea-creatures from the galley had gone and died in it. That was his fault for drinking a few beers and then going to bed without brushing his teeth. 

He knew he had to get up, but stubbornly decided to grant himself a few more minutes of rest. It was still a little unreal, all of this. And by ‘this’ he didn’t mean traveling through hyperspace to the land of some mythical Norse deities to fight an evil being—he meant _this_ , the broad warm body he’d been holding onto all night long. 

How in the whole wide mess of the multiverse had _this_ happened? Before Sakaar, Bruce had (much like every other person on earth) been able to objectively identify Thor as attractive. But Bruce hadn’t been attracted _to_ him. They’d been friends through the Avengers, but that was all. He’d never had so much as a single what-if fantasy about Thor. And then yesterday had happened—culminating in _this_. 

It was insane. They’d jumped into bed together like it was inevitable, like it was meant to be. Like they were lovers. Why did he suddenly have romantic feelings for Thor? Because of the Hulk. Why did Thor suddenly have romantic feelings for Bruce? Also because of the Hulk—but then why did Thor have romantic feelings for _the Hulk_?? Because he’d lost his father and his hammer and he was sick of his brother and oh by the way he’d been made into a slave? Was that the disastrous recipe for making someone think that sex with the Hulk was in any way acceptable? 

For the first time ever, Bruce seriously tried to imagine it: _Sex with the Hulk._ That was something other people joked about. Something _Tony_ joked about, far too frequently. So it must be imaginable, in any case. But not for Bruce. He got about as far as the thought of a green hand wrapping around Thor’s shoulder and felt like he might throw up. So he let that train of thought derail, took a step back, mentally, and tried imagining regular human sex instead.

Bruce hadn’t slept with anyone for years, and he thought about sex much less frequently now than he had a decade earlier. It wasn’t important to him, wasn’t a part of his life. And even when Bruce had been with Betty, had been tentatively happy, he’d rarely been able to fall asleep while touching her. But with Thor, it had been the most natural thing in the world for Bruce to keep an arm snug around him. Apparently when the Hulk decided to bond with someone, there was a powerfully tactile component of the process. He couldn’t get enough of this closeness, this _touching_. He wanted more of it, wanted all of it. He knew that if he asked, if he suggested it, if he dared to drag his hand down those shredded abs and then down further—Thor would let him. Thor would want him to. And it would _feel, so,_

But that’s where Bruce’s imagination shut down, where his attempt at a fantasy ended in an abrupt wall of black. And he was back to that empty place in his mind, the dead and buried and unspeakable reason why Bruce knew he couldn’t have this, the reason why he blocked out the obvious fact that the ratio, the _weight ratio_ , between him and Thor was the same as a fifty-pound kid to a certain adult man.

He didn’t think about that. Bruce had talked to at least half a dozen therapists over the years, even a few who knew everything, who knew about the Hulk. But for all those well-intentioned hours, trying to get better, trying to get help, there was still a void in his mind, a chasm unbridged.

The dark blank feeling caused a pain in his stomach, in his core. He was hungry, he remembered, grasping onto that fact as an acceptable excuse. Hungry, and he needed to drink some water and he needed to brush his teeth. Trying to imagine having sex with Thor wasn’t going to fix any of those problems. 

Carefully he extracted his arm from around Thor’s torso and scooted away, sitting up. He noted the vacant space on the other end of the bed, where Val had slept—so she was already up. Bruce found his slippers and shuffled out of the room, allowing himself only one furtive peek at Thor’s obliviously sleeping face as he went. 

He found Valkyrie standing at a what must have been the bathroom sink, and nearly tripped over his own feet in retreat. “Sorry, Val, didn’t know you were in here.”

“It’s no problem,” she assured him. She was already dressed in her armor, and using the mirror over the sink to finish re-applying the white streaks of war paint around her eyes. 

“Hey, do, do people in the rest of the universe brush their teeth?” Bruce wondered abruptly. 

Val gave him a look but handed him a bottle. “Take a sip of this, swish it around and spit it out,” she instructed. 

Bruce unscrewed the cap and took a swig—and was overwhelmingly relieved to discover it tasted like mint. “Oh thank god,” he muttered, spitting it out. Of all the things to find stocked on an alien spaceship, who knew that minty mouthwash would be the thing he’d be most excited about. 

Eventually he followed Val into the galley, asking about breakfast. As it turned out, there were eggs—reptile eggs. And also the dried-out larvae of some sort of insect, and some mollusks that Val said would fry up nicely. She left Bruce to do the cooking. 

Bruce had noticed the previous evening that the Commodore’s kitchen area reminded him of a lab, and Bruce had no problem finding his way around. Now that he was more-or-less accustomed to the idea of all the Sakaarian foods being the kind of slippery and/or crusty things that most people on earth avoided eating, there was only one feature of the galley that surprised him: a cupboard containing a rainbow of glowing liquids in identical decanters: pink, orange, lime green, aquamarine-blue and violet. They reminded him of a collection of phosphorescent Gatorades. 

Bruce had very little hope that these liquids were any kind of fruit juice, or really anything other than alcohol, but he picked up the purple one and uncorked it, just to see. He brought the decanter to his nose and sniffed. The softly-glowing liquid smelled like… smelled like…something familiar. Bruce got the very strong impression that the Hulk liked that smell, whatever it was. He made a face, trying to figure out what it reminded him of. 

“Is there any coffee?” asked Thor’s voice, groggily. 

Bruce spun around, surprised to find Thor in the doorway behind him. “Oh, good morning,” he said. “Sorry, didn’t find any coffee. Found these glowing Gatorades, though.” He held out the decanter to Thor, who took it and frowned at it. “Sniff that and tell me what it smells like.” 

Thor sniffed it, and then frowned even more. “That’s weird. Smells sort of like the Hulk.” 

Bruce grabbed it back from him. “No it doesn’t, yuck—what are you—” he smelled it again. “I think it smells like _you_ ,” Bruce realized, mildly horrified. 

“It smells like someone’s burning the eggs,” Valkyrie declared, appearing in the opposite doorway. She reached out and snatched the violet liquid out of Bruce’s hands, while Bruce hurriedly turned off the heating element under the pan of eggs. “And what the hell do the two of you think you’re doing with this? I thought you weren’t into the orgy stuff.” Val put the bottle back in the cupboard and shut the door. “Don’t touch any of those, all right? Too dangerous for a couple of rookies.”

“Sorry, I just liked the color,” Bruce admitted sheepishly, while Thor managed to look both embarrassed and offended at being called a ‘rookie’. “And, um, is there anything to drink that isn’t alcohol? Like tea, or coffee maybe?”

Val scowled at them but then rifled through a drawer until she found a little box of tea. “Here you go,” she said, placing it on the counter. “I trust you can figure out how to boil water without lighting yourselves on fire?” 

Bruce picked up the tea and smiled. “We’ll try our best,” he promised. “Breakfast is almost ready.” 

Incredibly, the scrambled reptile eggs ended up tasting pretty much just like bird eggs, the dried larvae had been boiled up into a starchy mush that was similar to grits, and the mollusks Bruce had sliced and fried were like a not-unpleasant combination of bacon and fried plantains. The three Revengers sat at the table together, eating like a little family. It was a totally satisfactory breakfast, and Bruce ate more than Thor and Valkyrie combined. 

“Why is it that every planet out there comes with _tea_ but only Earth has coffee?” Thor groused after a while, which set off a friendly argument/discussion with Val about the best beverages in the various ‘Realms’, which Bruce could barely follow. His thoughts drifted back to the kitchen, and he started to get an idea. 

It was the sort of conceptual thing that he couldn’t quite explain in words—he just had to try to do it: an experiment. 

After the dishes were cleared, Bruce rolled up his sleeves and got to work. By mid-day, he’d converted the galley into an acceptable workspace, and with Valkyrie’s skeptical assistance, he’d managed to scavenge enough bits of technology from the ship in order to build himself something that would function as a rudimentary multimeter and spectrometer, all set to detect alpha, beta, and yes, even gamma particles. 

***

“…But what’s the point?” Thor complained, as Bruce convinced him to participate in his science project. “You already know about the lightning and the radiation.” 

“Humor me, please,” Bruce implored, and pointed to a sort of a fork sticking out of the counter on one side of the galley. “See if you can get a tiny little lightning bolt to go from here, to here.” He turned and indicated another fork on the opposite counter.

“But don’t break the ship,” Val’s voice warned from the other room. 

“I won’t break the ship,” Thor replied over his shoulder, loudly enough for Valkyrie to hear him. He heaved a slightly-annoyed sigh, concentrated, and zapped the indicated fork with a spindly branch of lightning--from the ceiling.

“No, it’s gotta go _across_ , horizontally,” Bruce instructed. “Here to here.”

“I know, I heard you.” Thor thought about it, and tried it again, and this time the lightning arced across the aisle, from fork to fork.

“Perfect,” Bruce said, peering at his makeshift multimeter. “But this next part’s probably much more difficult. Make it go back the other way. Lightning bolt from there, back to here.” 

Thor considered this request, and shook his head. “It doesn’t go the other way.” 

“Think of it like this,” Bruce offered. He pointed to the first fork. “Cloud.” He pointed at the other fork. “Ground. What you just did was like cloud-to-ground lightning. Imagine ground-to-cloud instead.” 

“I’ll try it,” Thor agreed, but sounded reluctant. _You’ve been the God of Thunder for centuries,_ echoed Loki’s voice in his head. _By now, you should have figured out how you work._

Thor ended up having to make a fist, and a violent little jerking motion with it, in order to force a tiny ribbon of light to jump backwards to the designated ‘cloud’. 

Bruce was beaming. “You did it.” He showed Thor the readings on the equipment he’d cobbled together, which just looked like gibberish to Thor. “That first bolt, that had a negative charge. Standard for lightning. But the second one carried a positive charge. So you really can control it. And when you push a positive charge, it’s way more powerful.” 

“Sorry, Banner,” Thor said, sounding tired. “I’d like to be as happy as you are about this, but, to be honest this is bothering me a little.” 

“Bothering you?” Bruce frowned, confused. “Why?” 

Thor looked for one second like he might not want to talk about it, but then decided it was more important to make Banner understand. “I’ve always been able to do this lightning stuff, sort of,” Thor began, a little awkwardly. “But, in the fight with Hulk, something happened. I was nearly killed, and, this greater level of power…became a part of me, I think. It was all new. Never felt it before. I figured it was like a self-defense thing, a reflex.” 

“Okay, I’m with you so far,” Bruce said with a solemn nod. Bruce knew better than most people that self-defense mechanisms could be a pretty big deal. “Sorry about the nearly killing you, though,” he added in a lower voice, distressed. 

“No no, it’s fine. It was a good fight. But afterwards, apparently Loki thought it was great that I had this new level of power, and of course he wanted to use it for himself, because,”

“…Because he’s Loki,” Bruce summed up. 

“Right. So anyway, he wanted to see how much I could do, and when I didn’t want to do it, he…” Thor made a truly uncomfortable face. “…forced me to? And it kind of hurt—not the lightning part, that doesn’t hurt me—but everything else. I hated it.” 

“That sounds awful,” Bruce realized immediately. “I’m sorry.” 

“Thanks. I guess I just wanted you to know why I’m a little reluctant to be the guinea pig in your little…lightning lab.” He said it with a warm smile, and his eyes were kind, but still--

“oh.” Bruce looked down, and his face sort of _flinched_. He turned away from Thor, his shoulders hunching ever so slightly. 

Thor was struck by the notion that this deflation in Bruce’s demeanor was looking very familiar—he half expected Bruce to give a little stomp with his foot. “Oh no,” he said quickly. “Don’t be sad—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean, um…dammit I can’t believe I did it again.”

“Did what?” Bruce asked, glancing at him sideways. 

“Hurt your feelings,” Thor stated, upfront. “I mean, I hurt the Hulk’s feelings, before, and now I’ve hurt yours. I’m sorry. I take it back. I can do the thing—look.” Thor traced a line in the air with his finger, along the route of the positive charge, and a beam of light snapped across the galley, thicker and steadier than before. 

And then, it stayed in place. 

Thor looked down, dumbfounded, at this somehow constant bolt of lightning. It wasn’t moving, wasn’t flickering—it looked like a solid rod of light. 

“That’s the threshold,” Bruce said quietly. “I guess it works.” The white blaze of light reflected beautifully across Bruce’s eyes as he looked up at Thor. “You should be able to hold it.” 

Wordlessly, Thor reached out and _picked up_ the physical bolt of lightning. He held it in both hands, mouth falling open. “…How did you do this?” 

Bruce rubbed at his eyes. “Well, there’s an electrical field around the ship,” he started, but Thor already wasn’t listening. 

“You made solid light. You can’t make solid light,” Thor was muttering, while holding a living, glowing beam of energy in his hands. 

“…and I helped you stabilize it into constancy,” Bruce said, skipping to the end. “You’re the only one who can do that, by the way,” he added.

“Do what?” Thor asked distractedly, still mesmerized by this impossible phenomenon. 

“Hold it,” Bruce explained. “There’s like a thousand megajoules of energy in that, and that’s just a small one.” 

“Oh my god,” Thor realized, grabbing it by one end and holding it vertically. “Lightning sword.” He slashed it through the air, getting excited, and then grinned and hefted it over his shoulder. “Lightning spear!” He pretended to hurl it, then adjusted his grip on it, flipped it up into the air like a baton, and caught it with both hands. He stared down at it in awe, then got the most brilliant idea. “Oh my god!” he said again, wrapped his hands around either end of it, and bent it right in the middle to a ninety-degree angle. “Lightning boomerang!” he held it up, delighted. “Bruce—lightning _boomerang!!_ ” 

Bruce finally smiled, as not even his expert level of gloom could contend with the joy of Thor’s discovery/invention of a lightning boomerang. “I’m glad you like it,” Bruce started to say, when he realized Thor was racking back his arm—

“Wait don’t throw it!” Bruce said in alarm, but it was too late. 

Thor launched the universe’s first and last lightning boomerang into the ship, where it promptly collided with a wall, releasing every last one of its megajoules of energy in an explosion that shuddered the hull, shorted out the computers, plunged the ship into darkness—and zapped Bruce unconscious. 

As Thor realized he Should Not Have Done That, he became dimly aware of Valkyrie swearing at him from the bridge. “What did I _just_ tell you?!” her voice was yelling, livid. “I said: don’t break the ship. And what have you done?” 

Thor didn’t answer. Bruce had dropped to the ground, and Thor crouched down beside him, pulling him up by the shoulders. 

“Banner—oh no—Banner are you all right?”

Bruce was twitching, which Thor supposed was better than dead--

But then the twitching got worse.


	26. Thor still believes in that

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Events on the Orgy Ship, Part Six. Still no orgies happening. ^^;;

Thor knew he didn’t have a moment to lose. The galley was far too narrow; if Banner was going to turn into the Hulk right now, he needed more space. Thor got one arm behind Banner’s back and scooped the other under Banner’s knees, and got him out of there. As Thor set him down two seconds later in the open bay, on top of the sealed cargo doors, the twitching progressed to convulsing—but everything was so dark Thor couldn’t tell if he was turning green. 

“Banner—Bruce, can you hear me?” Thor had his hands on Bruce’s shoulders, then on Bruce’s face. Something was wrong—Bruce seemed like he was flickering out, like he was… dying? Thor reached for his neck, tried to feel for a pulse—got nothing. He put his ear to Bruce’s chest—no heartbeat. _No._ He was still convulsing. _Death throes._

“I’m going to have to reboot this whole blasted thing,” Valkyrie was grumbling from the cockpit. “At least the gravity gen’s still online, but life support’s out—” 

“Val, it’s Bruce,” Thor called to her. “His heart’s stopped.” 

“Yeah I’m not surprised, considering you electrocuted the entire ship,” Valkyrie replied. 

“What should I do?” Thor asked, desperation in his voice. “I can’t let him die.”

“Zap him,” Val advised, still sounding like she had far more important problems to solve. “Zap his heart, might get it going again.”

Thor’s own heart started pounding. His hands got all staticky, electricity sizzling between his fingers. “Zap his heart,” he repeated to himself. “Zap his heart.” Thor knew what she meant, but had never done that before. How much energy would it take? Could he get it right? What if he used too much—Banner’s heart could be incinerated, could be vaporized. And if Banner died—if Bruce died, would the Hulk bring him back? Was that how it worked? What if it didn’t?

Thor’s eyes started to glow white. He remembered that feeling, from the arena. It felt like maybe he could see through things, if he tried. But it also felt strong, too strong. “Not too much power, not too much power,” Thor worried aloud to himself, his blood throbbing, roaring with energy. He remembered the waterfall of light that had opened up for him on the dark side of Sakaar—he felt like he was on the precipice of that event all over again. He had to hold it back, he had to hold it all back. _Not too much power._ He put his hands on either side of Bruce’s heart, and did it. 

One little bolt of lightning, right through the lifeless muscle in Bruce’s chest. And it worked: Thor could tell, he could feel the electricity of it, that pump-pump, pump-pump of an all-too-human life. 

Thor had never tried to sense the electricity in people’s bodies before, had never consciously looked for it—but now it called out to him. He could see it. He could almost actually _see it_ —the heart in Bruce’s chest. Beating. 

Relieved and surprised and slightly weirded-out, Thor blinked, and the lightning in his eyes disappeared. He heard Bruce take a breath and grabbed him up in a hug, careful not to crush him. “Bruce—” was all he could say, and he squashed his face against Bruce’s, pressed his lips to the side of Bruce’s head. 

“what happened?” Bruce asked feebly a moment later, curled up against Thor’s chest. “Did I turn back into the—”

“No,” Thor whispered to the top of Bruce’s head, his chin buried in Bruce’s hair. “There was an accident.” 

“I’m always causing accidents,” Bruce whispered weakly. 

“This was my fault. I nearly killed you.” 

“Ha,” Bruce muffled a laugh. “In that case, I guess we’re even.”

Thor hugged him tighter. “…Your heart stopped.” 

“Oh.” Bruce thought of something. “Did you…zap me back to life?” 

Thor nodded. 

“That’s a useful skill,” Bruce observed. “I had no idea you could do that.”

“Me neither,” Thor confessed. “And, I…I think I might have x-ray vision now.”

“Dude, that is awesome,” Bruce sighed—he was still whispering. “And makes sense. Lightning produces x-rays too.” 

Thor accepted that, eyebrows rising. “And all this time I thought the _thunder_ was the better part. No more experiments though, deal?”

“Deal,” Bruce agreed. 

Val managed to get the emergency lighting online, bathing them in red, and she appeared in the doorway from the cockpit, leaning against the bulkhead, folding her arms. “I’ve got good news and bad news,” she announced. 

“Bad news first,” Thor requested, loosening his hold on Banner so that Val could see he was alive.

“It’s going to get cold in here, and we’re going to asphyxiate. The life support’s hard broke.” 

Bruce frowned, thinking he would like to take a look at the system himself, see if he could maybe get it working.

“What’s the good news?” Thor asked. 

“The wormhole’s collapsing behind us.” 

“That… does not sound like good news,” Bruce opined. 

“It’s speeding us up. So we’ll most likely get to Asgard before we freeze to death,” Val explained. 

“How long?” Thor wanted to know. 

“Couple of hours.” 

“All right,” Thor said, turning back to Banner. He patted Bruce’s shoulder in reassurance. “We’re going to make it.” 

Valkyrie rolled her eyes to the ceiling, but a half-smile appeared on her face in spite of herself. “Let’s hope you’re right.” 

***

Bruce ended up fiddling with the life support systems until he could no longer feel his fingers from the encroaching cold. He didn’t manage to fix any of them, but based on his calculations, they did have enough air to last them until the other end of the tunnel—just barely. 

Eventually Thor touched his arm, told him with a look that it was time to stop. He was carrying a thick sort of quilt, which looked big enough to cover at least half of that room-sized bed. They didn’t speak, just moved together to the place in the cargo bay where Bruce had determined the air circulation would give them the best chance at survival. They sat down together on the floor, their backs to the wall.

“One more hour,” Valkyrie informed them, and hesitated. 

Thor was pulling the blanket around his and Bruce’s shoulders. There was plenty of blanket left over. He met Val’s eyes and beckoned her over. 

Without a word she sat down next to Thor, tugging the blanket around her side. She leaned in, letting her weight settle against him. Thor smiled, feeling like a mother hen with his two chicks under his wings. Under the blanket, he wrapped one arm around Bruce, the other around Valkyrie, and brought his knees up, minimizing what was in contact with the icy metal of the floor. Bruce and Val did the same. 

It already felt warmer. It occurred to Bruce that even though lightning wasn’t great for heating, if they had an electric blanket handy, Thor could’ve probably powered it for them. But three people huddled under one thick quilt was pretty good as it was. 

“When we get to the end,” Val said softly.

“We’ll make it,” Thor said. 

“I meant, when we get to the other side,” Val tried again. 

“We’ll make it,” Thor insisted, kindly. “But, um, just in case, if we don’t… can Bruce come?”

“What?” Val shook her head, confused. 

“To Valhalla,” Thor clarified. “If we all get killed. That’s what Valkyries do, don’t they? Bring warriors to Valhalla?”

Val twisted her head to look up at him, all eyes. “You still believe in that?” she asked without scorn. 

“Yeah,” Thor said, and rubbed the outside of her arm. She blinked, and the corners of her mouth flinched down, rather hard. It was impossible to tell what she was thinking. She swallowed and looked across Thor’s chest at Bruce. 

“Bruce,” she said, and he met her gaze. “You can come.” 

“Thanks,” Bruce replied, in complete sincerity. “That…sounds nice.” 

“But I think we _are_ going to make it,” Val added. “And what I was trying to say was that when we get to the other end of the jump and the wormhole spits us out, we’ll have a better chance of surviving the deceleration if we’re strapped in up in the cockpit, rather than huddled back here.” 

“Oh, right,” Bruce agreed. “Is the computer still going to be able to warn us when we’re close?”

“Yes,” Val confirmed. “We’ll get a beep at one minute out.” 

“So at the last minute we’ll scramble into the cockpit and buckle up,” Bruce said. “Sounds like a plan.” 

“And until then,” Thor said, hugging them both. “We stay warm.” 

The hour passed, slowly, quietly, the red emergency lights sometimes coming on, sometimes going out and leaving them for long moments in the dark. They all tried to relax, to breathe slowly, not speak, save air. 

Bruce’s thoughts drifted idly over the subject of lightning, how maybe Thor’s abilities could be used for heating, with the right materials. Superheated plasma was fairly versatile, after all. 

Then he thought about possibly dying in space—what if the collapsing wormhole caught up to them, collapsed on top of them? He already knew from experience that the Hulk would survive even if Bruce Banner died—but would the Hulk survive the collapse of a wormhole? Bruce figured he wouldn’t. After all these years, how ironic to be at the brink of something with the potential to finally end the Hulk—and to not want to take that route. 

He wondered then about the chance that they might simply run out of air and then freeze. How long would the Hulk last, in those conditions? Could he go without air for a day? A month? Bruce wondered how many other spaceships were adrift in the universe, crew and passengers all frozen corpses, the victims of failed life support systems. There must be hundreds out there, thousands. Maybe failed life support on a spacecraft was a common way to go, the intergalactic equivalent of a car accident. It seemed plausible. There had to be a reason why every sci-fi show Bruce had ever watched had some episode dealing with this sort of air-running-out scenario. 

But even if they did make it to Asgard, Bruce realized, that was when the real danger would begin. Thor’s crazy sister was going to try to destroy them all. Maybe Bruce was wasting his time worrying about the collapsing wormhole and the dwindling oxygen—maybe they’d all be killed in the upcoming fight. 

And then Bruce thought, to his own surprise, about the possibility of an afterlife. For as long as he could remember, he had hoped there wasn’t one. No place to linger for eternity regretting what you’d done in your blink on earth. No chance of painful memories being preserved for all time. Better it all dissolve, all wash away. But if _Thor_ could imagine an afterlife, especially one that included Bruce…maybe such a thing wouldn’t be so bad? 

Or maybe the lack of air was making him delirious. 

_Beep._

The noise startled him. The one-minute-out warning, had that been it? Bruce looked up at Thor and saw he’d dozed off. Valkyrie was asleep as well, her face slack, her cheek smushed against Thor’s chest. “Thor, Val,” Bruce said, and they immediately woke up. “I heard a beep.” 

“Let’s go,” Val stood up, casting off the blanket, their hour of huddled warmth complete. 

“Oh, it’s freezing,” Bruce realized, letting Thor pull him to his feet.

“It’s just for a minute,” Thor said, patting his back. “We’ll survive it.” 

They hurried to the cockpit, Val to the left seat, Thor to the right, Bruce to the jumpseat--exactly as they’d been when they’d blasted off from Sakaar. Ahead of them in the swirling magenta light there appeared a tiny black dot—steadily getting bigger. It looked like a cannonball, hurtling towards them. 

“Is that the exit?” Bruce asked, trying to keep his teeth from chattering. 

“Should be,” Val replied, seeming perfectly calm. 

The black circle was growing exponentially larger. 

“Hey Thor,” Bruce spoke up again. “If this is it, um, I just want to say, thanks for saving me from Sakaar.”

“Don’t mention it,” Thor told him, sounding tense. “It was fun.” 

“Yeah, _fun_ ,” Bruce echoed, but then decided he didn’t want his last words to be sarcastic. “Also, I love you.” 

“I love you too,” Thor answered. 

“Ugh,” Val scoffed, making a face at them. They were too much. 

“I love you too, Val,” Bruce called out, fondly.

Val found herself smiling a little at that. “Thanks big g—” she frowned, catching herself. That was weird. “Thanks Bruce,” she corrected.

Thor turned to Val with a cheerful light in eyes, figuring as they were all saying these nice things to each other on the brink of possibly dying, he might as well: “Val, I also—” 

She looked at him with an expression so sharp, he half expected to see Loki holding the hilt of it. 

“Um, respect you,” he finished lamely. “I respect you.” 

Val’s pretense at disgust failed her. She almost laughed. 

And that’s when they hit the wall—the exit of the wormhole, a jolt every bit as hard as the one they’d hit going in. All three of them were knocked out, and when they came around a moment later, their destination loomed ahead:

_Asgard._

They’d made it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got a bunch of relatives visiting this week so the next chapter might be delayed a little but oooooh it's going to be a good one!!! ;)


	27. A sibling tradition (and Ragnarok happens)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki really is trying his best, you guys.  
> There are SO MANY omitted scenes in the script.  
> This stuff totally could've/should've happened. X)

Thor checked in with Heimdall, his man on the ground, who would lead the refugees to the Bifrost while Thor distracted Hela in the palace. Valkyrie and Bruce would provide air support—after they fitted the ship with a gun. 

Thor found a gift for Val in the armory. She told him not to die, and he knew what she meant: _Thank you--for believing in me, for giving me this chance to right a wrong. This chance to come back._

When it turned out that Fenris, the war wolf, was blocking the Asgardians’ escape route and the Commodore’s newly installed cannon wasn’t going to stop him, Bruce made a decision. It was time to tell Val his secret. He leapt out of the ship.

Bruce had hoped he’d transform into the Hulk before he hit the ground, but he wasn’t that lucky. He was totally human for the impact, which broke his human neck, broke his human arms and legs—at least he couldn’t feel any of his injuries, thanks most likely to a severed spinal cord. 

_Please, Hulk, please, please Hulk,_ Bruce thought as he realized he couldn’t breathe, and would be dying in a matter of seconds. He was staring down the bridge at the crowd of refugees. _Please save--_

Bruce’s consciousness blinked out, and the Hulk answered his unfinished thought. Val, watching from the ship, suddenly understood why Bruce had seemed so familiar. 

And in the middle of the ensuing battle, when it looked like perhaps the Asgardians might not make it off the bridge, Loki arrived with a cohort of veteran gladiators and a ginormous spaceship, ready to take them all on board. 

Watching from the balcony of the palace, several of Hela’s blades already impaling him, Thor almost felt like laughing—Hulk and Val were doing good work, holding off Fenris and the villainous hordes, but it was _Loki_ who was saving the day. Loki would carry them all to safety, beyond Hela’s reach. _Good for you, Loki!_

Now that his brother was there, providing a means of escape for the people, Thor felt relieved. Hela stabbed him again and he cried out in pain. Somebody probably should have told her that Thor was overly accustomed to that sort of treatment—if a simple stabbing could have killed him, Loki would’ve ended him long ago. All these jagged blades she kept knifing him with (really, how many could he take? Must have been ten wounds in him by now) weren’t going to be enough to finish the job. He was a _god_ just as much as she was a goddess. 

And whatever strength she’d acquired from the world of Asgard itself… Thor had access to that strength too. 

Everyone on the bridge looked up in awe as a river of light cracked the sky, inundating the palace. 

Loki smirked, recognizing the buzz of energy in the air, recognizing the waterfall of lightning. _I taught him that,_ Loki recalled proudly, never-minding the fact that technically the Hulk had been the first one to draw that power out. 

In the next instant, Thor came hurtling towards the bridge, ploughing into the fray—seeming stronger than ever, and mastering the lightning like never before. Loki quirked an eyebrow, impressed. _Were you flying just now, without Mjolnir?_ he wondered. _Good for you, brother. Good for you._ His eyes traveled back to the palace. He’d seen a tiny speck of black plummet from the balcony, and guessed correctly that that had been Hela. 

Loki cast a copy of himself back into the fighting, mostly so no one would accuse him of vanishing during the action, and disappeared from the bridge, heading towards the place where Hela had fallen. 

He found her quickly—a tattered sprawl of black and beetle-green, fractured blades strewn around her, steam rising in wisps from the charred crater where she’d been lightning-blasted into the ground. She was awake, pale eyes blinking, lips peeled back in a snarl—and clearly recuperating her own powers just as fast as Asgard could supply them. 

“Oh dear,” Loki said primly, as soon as he was sure that she could hear him. “Have I caught you at a bad time?”

Hela’s eyes whipped over to him. 

“I realized I didn’t have a chance to introduce myself before,” said Loki, sounding apologetic. 

“I know you,” Hela rasped. “God of Mischief. Odin’s pathetic little hostage from some skirmish with the Jotuns. _Ridiculous clown._ ” 

Loki smiled. “We really didn’t get off on the right foot, did we? In any case, you’re welcome.”

“For what?” Hela asked.

“For opening the Bifrost, allowing you to travel here from Midgard, remember?” 

Hela sneered. “You did that to save your foolish brother, not to help me.” 

“But it _did_ help you, all the same,” Loki shrugged. “Which is why I’m here now.” 

Hela rolled her eyes. “ _Do_ go on and bore me with your offer of terms.” 

“Very well,” Loki sidled over and paced at the edge of the crater, while Hela pulled herself to a sitting position, groaning. “What you and Odin did together was truly extraordinary. Conquering the Nine Realms, forging the empire. I guess you could say… I’m a fan.” 

Hela’s eyelids fluttered in extreme annoyance. “Are you attempting to flatter me? Not all of Odin’s offspring are idiots you know.” 

“Oh, I know. I only wanted to remind you that you didn’t do it all by yourself, last time. During your era of conquest. You had Odin by your side.” 

“But now he’s out of the way,” Hela said in impatience. 

“And you are alone,” Loki pointed out. “Such a shame. How far will you get, without someone to help you?”

Hela narrowed her eyes, slowly rising to her feet. “…If you’re offering to join me, feel free to kneel at any time.” 

“Kneel?” Loki blinked in surprise. “Dear sister. You misunderstand. I am offering…to be your king.” He held out a hand, reaching down to help her up out of the crater.

“ _You?_ ” she bared her teeth at the offer of assistance, and Loki lowered his hand away, smirking at her. She had to scramble up out of the crater on her own, her feet slipping a little on the charred-steamy stone.

“Why not?” Loki asked, tipping his head to one side. “I stole Odin’s throne and ruled Asgard for years, proved myself at least as good a king as he was. Banished him, as a matter of fact. Imprisoned him in a debilitated human mind on Midgard. Some might have called that cruelty but,” Loki evened his gaze at Hela, made sure she could see the raw edge of his smile. “You and I both know he deserved far worse.”

Hela was standing in front of Loki now, sizing him up. There was something alluring about him, she realized in surprise. Something that was provoking a response in parts of her she’d all but forgotten. “...You aren’t the impish jester I expected,” Hela allowed. “And you’re worlds more appealing than your poor blond ox of a brother.” She narrowed her eyes. “Could this be… an attempt at _seduction_?” 

The antlers of her headdress were like the claws of some creature, poised to clamp down and clutch Loki by the face. He glanced up at them, a touch of envy evident in his expression, sort of wishing he’d brought his own prong-horned helmet along for this interaction. His was slightly more functional than hers at least, even if he had to admit hers was better-looking. He refocused on her eyes. “Would you like it to be?” 

Hela drew back, considering. “I do sense something in you that I’m tempted to… claim? Is that the word? Possess? Ravish? Devour?” she frowned, an exaggerated expression. “No matter.” She brought a hand to Loki’s face, drew the tip of her finger down his cheek. “…Stick around after the battle, maybe you and I can figure out an _arrangement_ after all.”

Loki sighed, ever-so-softly. And quick as a viper, he plunged his long daggers between her ribs, one from the left side and one from the right, until he felt his blades scraping against each other deep in her chest. 

“Chgk,” she choked, through a mouthful of blood. 

He yanked the daggers out as she slumped to her knees in front of him. “I had to, you see,” Loki said down to her. “I just had to stab you, at least once. It’s a… sibling tradition.” He smiled as she spat blood onto the ground at his feet. 

“ _You!_ ” Hela roared in accusation, and a forest of black spears erupted from the ground around her, all of them aiming for Loki’s heart—but Loki was gone, rematerializing across the crater behind her. 

“As for being your king and all that, I _was_ only joking. I’ve ruled the Nine Realms already, and, honestly…” he shrugged. “I’ve got better things to do.” 

Hela was too furious for words, resorting to a savage roaring that reminded Loki a little bit of his father, when he’d been especially angered. “Hopefully my distracting you here has bought a little more time for the people to board the ship,” Loki mused aloud. The ground was rippling now, Hela’s shoulders hunching, the tips of summoned blades emerging all around her like a crop of deadly crocuses. “…Think I’ll get back to check on them,” Loki stated, realizing he was about to experience the full force of his sister’s wrath.

“Have fun losing,” Loki said coolly in parting, and vanished--leaving Hela betrayed and quivering with hatred, alone with her violent desires. 

“You’re late,” Thor said as Loki reappeared on the bridge beside him, proving that he’d been counting on Loki to come to Asgard with the Revengers all along.

“You’re missing an eye,” Loki realized in horror, suddenly wishing he’d stabbed Hela in the eyes instead of the ribs. 

“This isn’t over,” Valkyrie reminded them both, sweeping past. 

She was right—it wasn’t over, not until Thor figured out that they had to fulfill the prophecy. 

Ragnarok: the end of the world. The destruction of Asgard.

***

His mission to resurrect Surtur complete, Loki saw the Supercruiser rising into the atmosphere and docked the Commodore atop it. It took him several minutes to figure out what was happening in the ship below—who was in command? Who was piloting? Where was Thor? And by the time Loki determined that Thor wasn’t on board, the Hulk had scooped both Thor and Valkyrie up into his arms and _jumped_ , and landed in the open cargo bay in the midst of the huddled refugees, who were only now beginning to process that they were free, that they were safe. 

Together the remaining Asgardians watched as their world met its end. 

Ragnarok was complete. 

Loki made his way to Thor’s side a few minutes later, found him staring out at the debris of their home. “Come on,” Loki said to him. “There’s an infirmary a couple decks up. Let me see if I can do anything about your eye.”

“Where’s Hulk?” Thor asked, looking around the hold. 

“With the gladiators. They’re huge fans of his.” Loki told him. “Let’s go.”

Loki brought Thor up to the infirmary, got him cleaned up. He’d be fine. All his other wounds aside from his eye were already healing—the Hulk had hurt Thor ten times worse than Hela had. Only the missing eye was serious, was… 

“Permanent,” Loki pronounced, wincing slightly as he concluded his examination. “Unless we find someone with a lot more magic than I have, or a lot better medical facilities than this barge has.”

“Isn’t there anything…?” Thor asked plaintively. 

Loki bit his lower lip, considering. “I could, mask it?” he supposed, and willed a small illusion into place, a replica of Thor’s eye, perfectly matched to the way it had been, the way it was supposed to be. 

Cobalt blue. Blinking. Focusing now on Loki’s face in tandem with Thor’s other eye, his natural eye. Nobody would ever know the difference. 

Loki waved a simulation of a mirror into existence, shimmering in the air in front of his brother. Thor peered at his reflection, his fingertips touching the edge of Loki’s illusion on his face. 

Thor frowned. “Looks too… pretty,” he complained, sounding slightly guilty for bashing Loki’s handiwork. 

“What?” Loki bristled. “It looks exactly like it’s supposed to look!” 

“Can’t you make it more… rugged or something?” 

Loki made an exasperated face and then attempted to comply with Thor’s request. 

“Ugh,” said Thor, examining the result. “Now I just look tired.” 

“Maybe you should be tired, after destroying an entire Realm.”

“Just, never mind. Take it away.” Thor splashed a hand through the projected mirror, dissolving it like smoke.

“An illusion might be better than an empty socket,” Loki suggested, as kindly as possible. 

“I can’t go walking around with a bunch of magic hiding my face,” Thor whined. “I’m not like you.” 

The meaning there sunk in, and Loki looked down. “Right,” he acknowledged. “Changing your appearance with magic. How awful.” 

“Loki, I didn’t mean,” Thor began, and sighed. “I’m sorry.”

Loki met his brother’s eyes, and then let the illusion fade out, revealing the ugly black maw where Thor’s right eye had been. The same eye that Odin had been missing. What a coincidence.

“There’s an obvious solution for you, but I won’t be the one to suggest it,” Loki said, and walked away. 

Thor let him go. He knew what he meant, of course: an eyepatch, just like their father had worn. Just like Nick Fury, too, Thor remembered, and that made it a little better. Between the choices of a vacant socket, an eyepatch, or an illusion, the eyepatch was going to have to be the answer. 

Loki had other things to tend to on the ship; he checked in on his gladiators, magnanimously accepted the gratitude of the refugees he’d saved, left instructions for the rationing of the food and medical supplies, left instructions for assigning crewmember roles to the able-bodied: a ship this large needed engineers and mechanics, pilots, navigators, people to monitor the computers and communication equipment. It even needed janitors—which was the role that Loki eagerly hoped to assign to Lady Sif and the Warriors Three, if they’d managed to make it off Asgard alive. 

As the hours passed with no sign of any of them, Loki began to suspect that maybe they hadn’t—he wondered whether Thor knew of their fate. Better not to ask, not yet. 

At last Loki decided it was time to turn in—he’d gotten a few hours of rest on the journey to Asgard, travelling through the wormhole—but hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in days and days—not since Thor had arrived on Sakaar. It was all starting to add up, and repressing the Grandmaster’s cursed sex chemical in his system wasn’t making anything easier. That stupid drug was eating him alive. 

Loki made his way back to his room, and was honestly surprised to find Thor standing in the middle of it, a drink in his hand, and an eyepatch on his face. 

“It suits you,” Loki said, relieved to discover that it really didn’t look that much like Odin’s. 

Thor turned towards him, shoulders softening. “Perhaps you’re not so bad after all, brother,” he said, only a little awkwardly. Loki fought back the urge to roll his eyes. This would be Thor’s attempt at an apology. And to think he’d called _Loki_ predictable.

Loki smiled. “Maybe not,” he agreed, honestly too tired to be anything but genially cooperative in this sort of situation. 

“If you were here, I might even give you a hug,” Thor teased, and tossed the stopper from a liquor bottle at Loki—did he honestly think Loki’d sent an illusion in there? Why? To confront Thor, because he was angry about Thor’s stupid remark in the infirmary? Loki didn’t have the energy to care about that right now. He caught the thing Thor had thrown. 

“I’m here,” he said, because that was obviously true. 

Thor grinned at him, and raised his arms in invitation. “Well then,” he said, making it sound just a little bit like a challenge. “Let’s do this.”

Loki sighed and brought a hand to his face, absently rubbing his forehead. “Thor, I’d rather not, right now, and I don’t want to explain it, just, please do not,” 

Thor hugged him. 

Loki shook his head, doing his best not to feel this, not to care about it, not to want it. It was exhausting. After a minute Thor pushed him back, hands wrapped around his upper arms, and gave him a little shake, trying to get Loki to meet his gaze. “Hey,” Thor said. “…Are you all right?” 

“I’m wonderful,” Loki snarked. “Very _hugged_ , thank you. Are you done?” 

“…You could have hugged back,” Thor moped. 

“And you could be so kind as to leave me alone,” Loki retorted. 

Thor gave him a look that was equal parts concern, disapproval, and scolded puppy, and didn’t say anything. He dropped his arms.

“…Was there anything else?” Loki asked, gesturing palms-out in a clear expression of what-are-you-still-doing-here. 

“…I guess not,” Thor said, a little sadly. “You can go.”

Loki blink-blinked at him. “Excuse me,” he said at last. “Go where?”

Thor furrowed his brow. “Um, wherever you want?”

“I’m staying here,” Loki informed him. “This is my room.”

“Pfft,” Thor made a face, and took a sip of that drink he’d poured earlier. “These are the captain’s quarters.” 

“I know,” said Loki, indignant. “And this is my ship. Just who do you think captained this barge all the way here from Sakaar? I’ll give you a hint. It was me.” 

Thor sat down on the bed, kicked his feet up onto it, crossing them at the ankles. He leaned back against the pillows. “Thank you for doing that, Loki, seriously you did save everyone. But everybody agrees this is my room now, and so…I’m sleeping here.” 

“You can’t sleep in my bed,” Loki said, voice halfway a hiss. 

“I have before,” Thor mentioned, meaning _that._

The memory hit Loki like a Sakaarian trash scow. Because of course that had happened. A couple of times. “…so you remember that,” Loki said breathlessly, before collecting his wits. 

“A _ha_ ,” Thor pointed at him in accusation. “So you _did_ try to make me forget about that. I knew it. Why?” 

Loki was flustered. “Take your pick of reasons, all right? I didn’t want you for a wife.” 

Thor rolled his one remaining eye to the ceiling. “Reasons, ugh,” he groaned. “Loki nobody cared!” 

“ _I_ cared,” Loki whispered, voice hot. 

“Mother didn’t care,” Thor pointed out, playing that card. 

“Well. Mother knew the truth, didn’t she?”

Thor sighed and looked out the window at the stars. “In any case, it’s in the past,” he said, mostly meaning the fact that Loki had tried to mess with his memories. “I’m over it.” 

_I’m not,_ Loki managed to not say out loud. Instead he put his hand to his forehead again, as if rubbing at a headache. “Seriously Thor, get out of my room.” 

Now, of all the times, was the worst time for Thor to get into one of his obstinately playful moods. “Make me,” he said. 

Loki wondered what Thor would do if he bulls-eyed a blade through that brand-new eyepatch. “I could, you know,” Loki told him, instead of throwing knives. “I could slip inside your mind and make you do…anything.”

Thor groaned. “Ew. Every time I think I’ve heard you say the creepiest and most evil-sounding thing possible, you come up with something worse. Stop being so gross.” 

“Stop being so,” Loki swallowed, stopped himself. “Will you please just leave.” 

“There’s a hundred other cabins, just go find another one,” Thor advised. “This one has the biggest bed in it and, I am sleeping with the Hulk.”

Loki suppressed a laugh. “Really, Thor, is that supposed to be a joke?”

Thor looked at him, face lighting up in delight. “Oh right, you didn’t know. I’m totally serious. We’re together now. Together-together.”

Loki had a blank look on his face. “…How??” he demanded, and immediately regretted asking.

“None of your business,” Thor smirked. “We make it work. Where there’s a will, you know,” 

“Ugh.” Loki was looking ill. “You know what? Enjoy the cabin. It’s yours.” He turned to go. 

“Thanks,” Thor called cheerfully. “I owe you one!” 

Loki slammed the door behind himself as he exited, and went off in search of the ship’s coldest shower.


	28. Another one-eyed king of Asgard

Loki hadn’t made it two steps down the corridor before his mind was feverishly reconstructing all the ways that little encounter with Thor could have gone differently. He could have hugged back, for one thing, could have _held on_ until Thor figured it out and went along with it. But no, it wouldn’t have been right. Especially if the Hulk was likely to show up at any moment—that could have been disastrous. 

Loki practically stumbled into the first crew shower he found, and was startled to discover there was a girl in the changing room, facing away from him, wearing only a towel. Her dark hair was gathered into a knot on the back of her head, and she had the most beautiful bare shoulders Loki thought he’d ever seen. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Loki said automatically, realizing how rude it had been for him to barge in. She turned to face him, and his eyes were drawn first to the tattoo on her forearm, and then to her face. “Valkyrie,” he said, voice dry. It was clear from his expression there were few people he’d have been more displeased to encounter. 

“ _You’re_ in a state,” she said, smirking. “How long’s it been?” 

That’s right—she knew about the drug. “Couple of days,” Loki admitted.

“Hmf,” Val shook her head in disapproval. “Trying to set the record? You’ll eventually collapse, you know. Then—have fun with the dreams.” 

“I can handle _dreams_ ,” Loki assured her, and himself. 

Valkyrie made a not-so-sure-about-that face. “There’s an easy way to get over it, you know…” She bit the corner of her lip, looking him over, in that particular way which was threatening to make him writhe. “…I could take care of it for you,” she offered at last. 

“How very kind,” Loki remarked, with maximum sarcasm. “Still fantasizing about that table?” 

She shrugged. “We just won a battle. It would be good for me.” She stepped in, and Loki overcame the urge to retreat. There was something vaguely dangerous about her expression, about the intense focus in the depths of her eyes. “But for _you_ , I promise,” she murmured. “…it would hurt.” 

Loki sneered down at her, since without her boots on, he rather towered over her. He leaned down, close to her face, and whispered against her ear. 

“ _No thank you._ ” 

Loki kept the merest hint of a smirk on his lips, straightened up, and proceeded past her towards the nearest available shower. 

Val watched him go, rocking her head back and forth ever-so-slightly, eyebrows high in an expression of begrudging acceptance, an expression of have-it-your-own-way-then, see-if-I-care—and maybe just a smidgen of respect. 

All that pride, all that control—Loki was a special case, a rare find. It was no wonder the Grandmaster had wanted him.

***

Meanwhile, _finally,_ the Hulk found his way to the captain’s quarters, where Thor was waiting for him. 

Thor was feeling a little bit randy, a little hot-and-bothered—partially due to having been in such close proximity to Loki who was _definitely_ still under the influence of something—in any case Thor didn’t want to think about it, he just wanted to act on it. And now that Thor was reunited with the Hulk, he figured things were sure to work out in his favor. 

As the Hulk gathered him into a hug, lifting him up off his feet, Thor let go of whatever tension he’d been holding onto. He let himself be amazed all over again at that thick green skin, the sheer size and shape of those immense muscles—Hulk was completely magnificent. Completely awesome. Thor could barely believe he hadn’t realized it sooner. 

“You did so good,” Thor said warmly, wrapping his arms around the Hulk’s neck, leaving the rest of his body to melt against the Hulk’s chest. “In the fighting. I saw you tackle that wolf!”

“Wolf bit Hulk,” Hulk remembered, and set Thor down to show him the bitemarks, which were already healed over. “Wolf strong.”

“Not as strong as Hulk,” Thor said fondly, and tugged him towards the bed. “Come on.”

But Hulk resisted, frowned a little, and poked a finger against Thor’s eyepatch—just a little tap.

“Ow,” Thor reacted automatically, his hand coming up to cover the patch. 

“…What’s that?” Hulk asked slowly, in case it was something he wasn’t supposed to be curious about.

“Lost an eye,” Thor tried to explain, not really answering the question. Hulk reached for the eyepatch again, scowling at it. “Be careful, it’s still tender,” Thor warned, but then held still, and let the Hulk pry the patch away. 

“Bad,” Hulk judged, finally getting a good look at the wound. It was healing, but still ugly—black and raw pink. “Hurt.”

“Yeah, it hurt. Hurts. It’ll scar over, but I’ll be stuck with the patch.” Thor exhaled, taking the eyepatch from Hulk and pressing it back into place. “Just like my father.” He smiled at the Hulk, who did not smile back. 

Hulk stared hard at Thor, stared at the patch hiding that horrible damage. Felt endlessly, insatiably angry. “Why?” he demanded. 

“You mean why’d I have to end up one-eyed like Odin? I have no idea,” Thor shrugged a little, finding his way back to the drink he’d poured earlier. “Probably some other stupid prophecy I’ve forgotten about. Maybe some verse in a tedious poem somewhere mentions a one-eyed king of Asgard and that was enough to seal my fate. You know I used to want to be just like my father, when I was a child, I couldn’t wait to grow up and be as strong as he was.”

“No,” said the Hulk, hating this subject much more than Thor realized. 

“Then I learned some stuff, and realized I’d rather not be the king if I could help it,” Thor went on. “But, I suppose some things are unavoidable. And here I am. Just like my dad after all.” 

“NO,” Hulk yelled at him, both hands balled into fists. 

Thor tipped his head, finally noticing that the Hulk was disproportionally upset. “…What’s wrong?” he asked. “Are you…angry about my eye?”

“Yes,” Hulk decided, very slightly relieved to have that be the answer. Thor was supposed to have two eyes. Not an eyepatch. “Get doctors. Fix eye. Don’t be like d—” Hulk shut his mouth, angry all over again. He looked guiltily at Thor, and then wrapped him up in another hug, so tight that Thor could hardly breathe. 

“Just be like Thor,” Hulk said at last, raising him up so their faces were level. 

“All right,” Thor agreed, hugging the Hulk’s neck again. “I’ll try my best.” When the Hulk finally relaxed, Thor pressed their foreheads together, and kissed the Hulk right between his eyes.

Hulk pulled back a bit, his expression making him look so much like his human self. His eyes always looked like Bruce’s, but especially when they were soft and wide like this—a fact that Thor chose, unwisely, to comment on. 

“You look just like Bruce,” Thor mentioned happily, holding the Hulk’s face in his hands. 

Hulk’s mood dimmed. “No,” he said again. 

Thor sighed, and dropped his hands onto the Hulk’s shoulders. “Hulk, you have to understand, it isn’t bad for you to be like Bruce. Bruce is really good. I’m his friend, and you should be his friend too, because, he _is_ you.”

“Bruce died,” Hulk grumbled. 

Thor stiffened. “What? What do you mean?”

“Died! Again,” Hulk tried to explain. “Jumped out of ship.” Hulk had been holding Thor against his chest for this whole conversation, and now shifted Thor’s weight over to one arm so he had a hand free, and dropped his palm flat onto the table: _splat_. 

Thor felt a dreadful prickle of adrenaline at this information, almost like a rivulet of lightning shivering through him. “Oh no, that’s… but, you…don’t you save his life, when he turns into you?” 

“Hmph,” Hulk scowled, setting Thor down, not meeting his gaze. 

“Hulk, you have to tell me if he’s okay,” Thor begged, in rising stress. “Can’t you talk to him, at all—at least tell me he’s there, in your head?”

“He’s there,” Hulk admitted, grudgingly. 

“Oh, good,” Thor was instantly relieved. “Don’t scare me like that!” 

“Stupid, weak Banner,” muttered the Hulk. 

“He is not,” Thor protested. “You’ve got to stop thinking about him like that. He’s not weak. He’s strong. And he’s brave, and he’s smart, and he’s a really good friend. You need to give him a chance.” 

Hulk was devastated by this reprimand, and it showed, anguish all over his face. “…Thor likes Banner,” he summarized, his voice breaking. 

“Yes, Hulk, because Banner is you. I love you, and him, the same.” 

Hulk looked like he was going to cry. Instead, his shoulders hunched, and kept hunching—and started to shrink. 

“No, damn it!” Thor called to him, as realization set in that once again he must have said exactly the wrong things. “Hulk you don’t have to leave, I want you to stay! Don’t change back—Hulk, stay—please?”

It was too late. Three seconds later, Bruce was gasping for breath on the floor of the cabin, his hands clamped around his very sore neck. 

“Ohmygod I’m alive,” Bruce panted. He looked over at Thor, who was already bringing him a blanket. “We’re alive. Where are we?”

“Spaceship,” Thor informed him, kneeling down to wrap the blanket around him. “It’s over—we did it. Hela’s gone.” 

“So we saved Asgard?”

“Well, we saved the people. Not the place.” 

“What happened to the place?” 

“It… blew up,” Thor admitted, rubbing Bruce’s back. 

“I think I died,” Bruce blurted out. “I—I felt myself dying and I knew it was the end and I didn’t even feel the Hulk take over.”

“Hulk said you died,” Thor told him. “But, um, I’m really glad you got better.”

“Humans aren’t supposed to get better when they die,” Bruce reminded him. “That’s more of like a god-level thing.” 

Thor shrugged. “I was human when I got killed by the Destroyer. Not something I’d be especially eager to go through again.” 

“Good, please don’t,” Bruce pleaded, and looked up at his eyes—well, eye. “What’s with the, uh, eyepatch?” Bruce asked in surprise. 

Thor sighed. “I sort of just went over all that with the Hulk. Lost my eye—”

“You lost your _eye?_ ” Bruce echoed in shock. 

“Yeah—wanna see?” Thor lifted the eyepatch away. 

“Gaaah!!” Bruce halfway screamed. Thor grinned a little and put the patch back in place. 

“Pretty bad, right?” Thor asked. 

“It’s, that’s, totally horrifying,” Bruce pronounced. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m good,” Thor assured him. “Just another one-eyed king of Asgard, with an eyepatch, just like my father.” 

“So your father—Odin—wasn’t even powerful enough to regrow an eye?” Bruce asked, dumbfounded. 

“Apparently not,” Thor realized, frowning. 

“And—your dad wore an eyepatch?” Bruce asked, blinking. “Like Nick Fury?” 

“Just like Nick Fury,” Thor confirmed. 

Bruce frowned, confused. “Why do I feel, like… really sad?”

“I don’t know. Hulk was sad too.”

Bruce stared up at Thor in sudden pain, remembering something terrible. “Did I hear you say, ‘don’t change back’, like a minute ago?”

Thor heaved an exasperated sigh, stood up, and plopped down on the edge of the bed. He rested his elbows on his knees. “Sorry. I am glad you’re here, but I had been looking forward to seeing the Hulk again. Kicked my brother out—guess this was his room originally, since he’s captain of the ship or whatever—anyway I threw him out of here so Hulk and I could be together.” 

Bruce gave him an incredulous look. “You were trying to get laid!” he accused. 

“So what if I was?” Thor shook his head, not understanding why Bruce was looking at him like he was a horrible person or something. “I’ve had a kind of a rough day, what with this eye thing and my home blowing up—” 

“Oh you had a _rough day_?!” Bruce rose to his feet, blanket clutched around himself like an old woman’s shawl. “I freaking _died._ Wow, just, wow: _‘Had a rough day, guess I’ll go fuck the Hulk’_?? Is that how it is?” 

Thor made a fist and slammed it down onto the mattress next to where he was sitting. “Will you _stop_ being like that about it? That’s not what it’s like at all.”

Bruce was practically yelling now. “Then what is it _like_ , Thor? Hm? What’s it like?” 

Thor was breathing harder now. The whole ship rumbled faintly—there must have been just enough atmosphere available for Thor to shift around, to produce that effect. 

“…woah,” Bruce huffed, flinching at the unexpected noise and subtle vibration. 

“I told the Hulk how much I like you,” Thor said quietly, trying his best to calm down. “I told him I want him to like you too.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Bruce scoffed. “Hating me is the one thing the Hulk’s good for.”

“That’s not true.” Thor was acutely aware that he’d already broken one spaceship that day with an accidental use of his powers, and he hadn’t intended that little rumble just now—he had to keep himself in check. He kept his voice soft. “Hulk’s good all the way through. He’s kind-hearted and generous and playful and gentle. You and Hulk need to talk to each other.”

Bruce’s eyes went wide. “Oh! Is that what we need to do? Hulk and I need to talk to each other—you’ve solved it! That’s great. Brilliant diagnosis, really appreciate the expert advice.”

“Don’t be like this,” Thor said, which was _always_ the wrong thing to say. 

“You mean, don’t be _angry?_ Really? Is that really what you’re saying, Thor?” Bruce was on a streak, and there was no stopping it now. “You’re telling _me_ not to be angry. Wow--No. You know what, I love you. But you’re not being helpful right now, and I’m not going to _Hulk out_ just so you can have your way with me, okay? That doesn’t help me. Whatever you do with him, I can’t even feel it. All I feel is this sort of disappointed… pining right now and I can’t even go out for some fresh air because, we’re in outer space and I’d die. Again.” 

Bruce gathered the blanket around himself, located the door, and stormed off just like that--leaving Thor sitting on the bed with his mouth hanging open, really having no idea how to fix any of the very many things he must’ve done wrong. 

Frustrated with himself, Thor hung his head, looking glumly at the floor between his feet. Things had not worked out in his favor after all. 

***

As for Bruce, he only made it a short way down the corridor before he found a door that looked like it might lead to a locker room or something—he knew he needed to find some clothes, so he finagled the door open—and ran right into someone who was just on their way out. 

The person Bruce bumped into was radiating _cold_ as if they’d stepped right out of a freezer. Bruce had one hand up, clutching the blanket around his shoulders, and he yelped as his knuckles accidentally brushed against what should have been the other person’s chest, except it was something so cold it seared his skin on contact. Bruce drew back, heart pounding—and Loki recoiled twice as much. 

“Ouch,” Bruce said, looking down at his instantly reddened knuckles. It wasn’t like a burn at all, Bruce realized, although that was kind of what it had felt like. It was more like…frostnip?

“I am so sorry,” Loki apologized in a rush. “I didn’t know you were there.” 

Bruce stared at him in confusion--Loki was looking sort of _grayish_ , though the longer Bruce stared the more he seemed to be getting back to his usual color. 

“…Are you all right?” Bruce asked in genuine worry. “I mean, are you…sick or something?” 

“I’ll be fine,” Loki assured him. “I just need to solve a, a chemistry problem.”

“Oh,” Bruce’s expression brightened. “I’m good at chemistry. Maybe I could help.” 

“Hah,” Loki shook his head, and actually managed a light-hearted laugh. “Thank you for offering, but no. I couldn’t ask you for that. Anyway what are you doing here? I thought my brother would be keeping the Hulk busy for a while.” 

Bruce blew out a breath. “Yeah, pretty sure Thor thought so too. But then I guess he told the Hulk that he likes me, and Hulk felt rejected and slunk away to sulk. And then when I showed up, Thor made sure to let me know how inconvenient it is for his libido that I’m so bad at communicating with myself.” 

Loki nodded slowly, absorbing that. “…So you slunk away to sulk, as well?”

A little bit of the anger in Bruce’s eyes evaporated as he realized Loki was right. “I guess that’s exactly what I’m doing,” Bruce confessed. His shoulders slumped a little more under the cloak of the blanket. “I’m a wreck. Is there any food around here?”

Food—Loki realized he hadn’t eaten in forever, either. Food might actually serve as a good distraction, if not a remedy. He looked down the corridor and nodded a little with his chin. “End of the hall,” he said cordially. “Officer’s mess, one level down. I’ll come with you.”

“Thanks,” Bruce said, and then remembered he was still wrapped in a blanket. “…Think you could help me find some clothes, on the way?” 

Loki blinked, and then tilted his face down to consider Bruce, the focus of his pale eyes following and locking-on a split-second after, in a way that was so thoroughly non-human that Bruce was jolted into remembering that this was the guy—the god—who had brought an alien army to Earth that one time and like, tried to take over the place. But then again, Bruce was the guy who turned into the _beast_ that had smashed that alien army, so, who was he to judge? This was fine. Loki was probably just bemused because he wasn’t used to mortals asking him for favors. 

“Certainly,” Loki replied after a moment, his expression inscrutable. “Follow me.”


	29. Loki, god of wisdom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally coming together, you guys, it's finally going to start making sense.  
> And I promise you, I swear to you all, it's going to be okay. :)

Loki found Bruce a sort of nondescript navy-blue crewmember uniform that made Bruce feel like an extra on the set of _Battlestar Galactica_ or something. At least it fit. 

They sat down together in the officers’ mess hall, Bruce tearing into an enormous portion of blubbery meatcake, holding a chunk of the stuff in both hands like an oversized hamburger. Loki had some too, though he clearly didn’t like it as much—and he used the Sakaarian supercruiser equivalent of a knife and fork, eating like a civilized person instead of a starving tourist at a roadside taco truck, which made Bruce wonder for a minute at the apparent universality of table manners. 

There was something weird about watching Loki eat, Bruce decided. He ate sparingly, carefully, as if expecting each bite to be poisoned. Thor on the other hand was always eating, back on earth--eating was like his third-favorite sport. He’d once eaten an entire tub of Country Crock and half of an ornamental ficus before someone had stopped him, if you could believe Clint’s version of events. Abruptly Bruce found himself wondering if Clint had ever seen Loki eat anything, during that whole time when they’d been doing that thing. 

Loki noticed the look on Bruce’s face, and set down his utensils. “So, you’ve got questions,” Loki noted. 

“Yeah,” Bruce said with his mouth full of meatcake. “Like… why were you freezing, when I bumped into you?”

Loki furrowed his brow. “Well,” he said, looking down at his plate. “I was born that way. I’m technically a Jotun, a Frost Giant.” 

“Frost _Giant?_ ” Bruce asked, curious. He was pretty sure he’d heard Thor mention Frost Giants but had always just pictured the abominable snow monster from the Rudolph movie that had fascinated him as a kid. He certainly hadn’t imagined they’d look like Loki. But then again, Loki was a shapeshifter. Bruce frowned, chewing thoughtfully. “Are you saying you’re like, an actual _giant_?”

Loki narrowed his eyes, remembering the awkward thing his brother had asked him, a few days earlier. “I’m not as big as the Hulk, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Oh.” Bruce swallowed. “It wasn’t, but, uh, ok. Cool.” He took another bite. 

“Anyway, I didn’t know what I was until Thor got banished to Earth. Ever since then, I’ve tried changing into Jotun form once in a while, but,” Loki’s eyebrows flinched. He straightened his shoulders, just a tiny bit. “This is me. This has been my body my entire life. This is what I think I am, instead of what I actually am, if that makes sense.” 

“Uh-huh,” Bruce said, and set down his big blob of food. “Let me get this straight. Sometimes you transform into this, like, whole other body, that doesn’t really feel like _you_ , except you know it _is_ you, and you’re like, ‘this isn’t me’, except it’s kind of been who you were inside all along, even if you don’t want it to be?” 

They looked at each other for a beat, and then Bruce said “hm,” and resumed stuffing his face with meatcake. 

“Hm,” Loki echoed, in a slightly different tone. 

Bruce was eating too fast—suddenly his mouth felt dry. “Hey, is there anything to drink?” he asked. 

“…I’ll make some tea,” Loki offered, having no idea where this unprecedented streak of hospitality was coming from. 

Bruce’s expression brightened. “I love tea,” he declared, and then remembered a conversation from the Commodore—“But, like, why does every planet come with tea, while only Earth has coffee, am I right?”

Loki quirked an eyebrow, as that was a question he’d not expected from someone relatively inexperienced at intergalactic travel. “Or,” Loki proposed, moving to locate a kettle. “Is coffee just a different version of tea?” 

“Huh, good question,” Bruce looked impressed. “I like how you think.” 

“ _hm,_ ” Loki said again, more quietly. 

A few moments later, the tea was poured into two mugs, and Bruce made the mistake of watching Loki take a sip. He recalled another subject of discussion on the Commodore—he now understood exactly what Valkyrie had meant, about something Loki appeared to be good at.

Bruce blushed a little as he realized he’d been fixating on Loki’s throat.

And what was worse, Loki was regarding him now as if he’d totally noticed that Bruce had been fixating on his throat. 

“Is it to your liking?” Loki clipped, and Bruce realized an awkward split-second later that Loki probably meant the tea. 

He gulped it down. “Same kind we had on the Or—the Commodore,” he reported, mildly surprised. “It’s pretty good. I think it was the only kind of drink on that ship that wasn’t either alcohol or some kind of glowing sex drink.”

Loki blinked. “Glowing sex drink,” he repeated. 

“A whole rainbow of them. Valkyrie mentioned they had something to do with orgies.”

“Stocked on the Commodore,” Loki reiterated. 

“Yeah.” Bruce noticed the change in Loki’s expression. “Why? Are they important?”

“Maybe, maybe not. If I have the original elements to work with, I might be able to devise a counteracting formula.”

Bruce leaned in, interested. “Is this about your chemistry problem?”

“Yes,” Loki said plainly. “You may have helped me with it after all.”

“I might be able to help even more,” Bruce said, completely sincere. “If I knew, um, exactly what the problem was?”

Loki locked eyes with him, considered telling him, and then figured, why not? Thor knew, Valkyrie knew, even _Korg_ already knew, so it wasn’t like it was a secret. “Back on Sakaar, the Grandmaster gave me an aphrodisiac, in a glowing blue drink. I knew what it was, knew it had dangerous magic in it, but I didn’t know how long the effects would last, or, that it would get worse over time.”

“Oh my god,” Bruce reacted. “So…we need to find an antidote?” 

“Yes,” Loki said. “That would be ideal.” 

“…and, um,” Bruce had to ask. “What happens if we don’t?”

Loki sighed, looking down at his mug of tea. “Well, I’ll either hold out until I’m incapacitated in some kind of coma, or,” he held very still. “…I’ll give in. Let the magic serve its purpose.” 

“But,” Bruce pouted a little. “…that might not be so bad, right? Just, do some sex, get it over with? Is that the deal?” 

Loki moved his shoulders up and back, ever-so-slightly. “At this point, I’d consider that a victory for the Grandmaster.” He gave Bruce a look. “One I’m unwilling to concede. However, I’ll admit it would be the easier way. If it happens, I’ll live.”

“Wow. Okay.” Bruce inhaled, and then he thought of something. “I wonder…”

Loki hesitated before looking at him. “What?” he asked at last. 

Bruce shook his head, half of a dry laugh rasping in his throat. He rested his elbows on the table, his hands on the sides of his head. “I just wondered if a magical aphrodisiac would help me solve _my_ problem.” 

Loki narrowed his eyes, canting his head. “ _Your_ problem?”

“With Thor,” Bruce admitted, blushing. 

Loki looked at him as if he were pinned to a petri dish. “…You’ve got a problem with _Thor_?”

“It’s a little hard to explain,” Bruce began awkwardly. “But the thing is, Thor’s totally right. I do need to get on the same page as the Hulk. We need to talk to each other. The wall between us in my brain, it’s a problem. It’s a psyche problem, and I need to solve it.”

Loki considered this odd overview, wondering where it was going. “…I’m good at psyche problems, maybe I could help,” he offered, smiling a little. 

Bruce gave him an appreciative little glance, just enough to indicate that he’d picked up on what Loki’d done there, reprising Bruce’s earlier offer of helping Loki with chemistry. “So,” Bruce took a breath. “What bothers me most is that I can’t remember anything the Hulk does. I get like these echoes of his emotions sometimes but I don’t have access to the Hulk’s memories. It’s unfair because the Hulk can see _my_ memories but I can’t see his. I mean, Hulk had sex with your brother and, um, I’m assuming that’d be pretty, um, memorable…” he checked Loki’s face for a reaction. 

Loki nodded, just a tad. “A fair assumption,” he said graciously. 

“But I can’t even remember it at all,” Bruce concluded, dejected. 

“But you’d like to,” Loki deduced, as if he’d just uncovered a missing piece of a very interesting puzzle. 

“Yeah, I would.” A huge rush of air left Bruce’s lungs. “And, cards on the table—I’d love to be with Thor like this, I mean, as a human but I don’t think I can. I get like panic attacks and um, almost flashbacks I think.” 

Loki tilted his head, studying Bruce carefully. “Abused as a child,” he stated. 

“It’s in my file.”

“ _Thor hasn’t read your file_ ,” Loki informed him, and it was like another piece of the puzzle clicked into place. 

Bruce looked surprised. “Really? I thought it was mandatory. Nick Fury said—and Steve told us—” 

Loki shook his head. “I promise you, he hasn’t read it.” 

Bruce’s mouth fell open, and he thought back over everything—and a couple things now made sense, sort of. “Thor doesn’t know… about my father? About my _mother_? He doesn’t know about any of it?”

“Not unless you’ve told him,” said Loki. 

Bruce was stuck for a minute, letting that sink in. That meant Thor hadn’t been treating the Hulk—or Bruce—like a victim, or a survivor, or whatever—he had just been treating them like a regular…person? Sure, it was out of ignorance, but still…the fact that Thor had established a relationship, a friendship, and more, without making any special allowances or accommodations for their tragic past was kind of amazing. It kind of made Bruce love Thor even more, to know that the shadow of Bruce’s childhood hadn’t shaded Thor’s perception of him. 

Bruce had to tell him, he knew, and he would tell him soon—but first it would be great if that same shadow could be cleared from _Bruce’s_ perception, too. At least once. 

“Anyway, I,” Bruce met Loki’s gaze, and Loki was suddenly _fascinated_ by the shame, the desire, and the astonishing _hopefulness_ in Bruce’s eyes. “I, was wondering, maybe a dose of a magic drug could, help me get over my inhibitions, get over my fear, my mental block. I don’t know—I think it might be worth a try.”

Bruce figured it wouldn’t—couldn’t—be all that bad. People who were afraid of flying on airplanes took drugs and got through it. Musicians who were afraid of performing in public took drugs and got through it. And he wanted this—Hulk had figured out how to be intimate with Thor. Why couldn’t Bruce?

But Loki’s expression shifted, as if over a fault. “No,” Loki told him, voice soft. “It would be a terrible error. Magic can make anything easy. It can also make things fake. You don’t want to risk it.” He bit his lip suddenly, and Bruce wondered if he was regretting sharing that seemingly heartfelt bit of advice. What was he, Loki, god of wisdom now? “…In any case,” Loki went on. “I have a better idea for how to help you.”

“…What is it?” Bruce asked, curious. 

“Well, for a start, you want to see the Hulk’s memories,” Loki parsed. “I could show them to you.”

Bruce froze, weighing that. “You mean, you’d get into my head? Like a mind-control thing?”

“It’s related,” Loki acknowledged. “But I won’t take over your mind. You said there’s a wall, between you and the Hulk. That’s interesting to me. I think I could help the two of you talk to each other—at least, I’d like to try.” 

Bruce looked vaguely apprehensive, remembering Clint again, remembering Erik Selvig—Bruce had a recollection of Dr. Selvig being admitted to a mental hospital, in the aftermath. 

“…You’re going to look for the Hulk’s memories, in my brain,” Bruce summarized. 

“That _is_ where they’re stored,” Loki pointed out.

Bruce thought it over for another minute, and then decided to trust his fledgling spaceship-pilot instincts, which were basically the opposite of his mild-mannered, defensively-cautious scientist instincts. He had to solve his psyche problem, even if that meant trying something new. Something dangerous.

“Okay,” Bruce agreed. “But--don’t go too far back.”

“Never fear,” Loki said, _kindly_ , if that were possible. “I don’t need the specter of your father in my mind—the specter of Odin is quite enough for me.” 

“Just skip the first fifteen or sixteen years of my life, please.”

“I promise I’ll start at the top,” Loki assured him. “From today, back over the last few days. That should be enough to find what you’re looking for.” 

“Right, uh, sounds good.” Bruce was getting nervous. He kind of wished Thor was there, just for like, emotional support or something. He thought about the people who were scared of airplanes, remembered something he’d read about people bringing emotional support turkeys and ocelots and so forth on board, to comfort them. _Hello I’m Bruce Banner,_ he imagined. _This is my emotional support god of thunder._

“So um, how do we do this?” Bruce asked, voice a little wobbly. 

“I just have to touch your face,” Loki explained, and, tentatively, reached across the table. 

Bruce leaned towards Loki’s hand, expression so nervous, so worried—at the last second he flinched away. “Wait,” he said, wincing. “What if I don’t like it? Can we have like, a safeword or something?”

Loki blinked, considering that request. “I suppose that would work,” he conceded. “What word would you like?”

Bruce looked startled—a flurry of words burst through his mind, each one bright, like a firework.

_Boomerang. Board shorts. Valhalla._

“Friend,” Bruce decided abruptly. It was the safest word he knew.

“All right,” Loki agreed, his forehead creasing as he refrained from commenting on Bruce’s choice of word. “ _Friend_ it is. Say that word to me, and I’ll stop.” 

“Okay.” Bruce took a deep breath. He closed his eyes. “I’m ready.” 

…But the Hulk wasn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK discussion time: How big IS a Frost Giant? Pretty sure they change in height, from 8-10 feet tall on average for everyday life all the way up to 20 or 30 feet tall if they want to be. In any case, Jotun-Loki ought to be taller than regular Loki. Even if he was undersized/too small when he was born, as an adult and as a competent shapeshifter he ought to have no problem sustaining at least the average height of a Jotun--except how WEIRD would that be, to have this feeling like "I ought to be taller than I am" but then, when you try that out, suddenly you're huge and towering and everything is off? That's got to be super disorienting and uncomfortable. Sure, he can be any size he wants to be, but since he grew up as an Asgardian and has spent barely any time at all in Jotun form, I imagine Loki actually *doesn't know* how tall he's supposed to be, and I bet that bothers him.


	30. The memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is still rated M, not E, but buckle up... Bruce might be about to see some things that can't be unseen.  
> You're welcome . X)

Oh, this _was_ interesting. Inside Bruce’s head, there were two separate identities, two sides of one soul—split. Disassociated. Loki found himself on Bruce’s side, surveying something that was more of an endless chasm rather than a wall. And on the other side of it, _the Hulk._

“Friend,” said Bruce urgently, as if out of breath, and Loki stepped back—found himself blinking at Bruce across the table in the mess hall. 

“Oh thank goodness,” Bruce breathed in relief, realizing where he was and that Loki really had retreated from his mind. “Sorry. Just checking. Wanted to make sure that would actually work.” 

Loki fixed him with a pointed, patronizing look. “…If you’d rather drug yourself with Sakaarian sex chemicals instead,” he began. 

“Nope, nope—um, I want to try this.” 

“Hold still,” Loki advised, with only the slightest crisp of impatience. He touched the side of Bruce’s face, and went back in—back to that mystifying boundary, that divide—how to close that gap? 

Deciding to consider this problem from all angles, Loki willed himself to the other side of Bruce’s mind, the Hulk’s side. 

And the Hulk was waiting for him. 

“ _LOKI?!_ ” the Hulk was aware of him—and suddenly charging right for him, roaring in hatred. 

“ _You can’t hurt me I’minsideyourmind!_ ” Loki recited in a rush, but clenched his teeth anyway as the Hulk reared up with both fists, bringing them both crashing down on the presence of the unwelcome intruder in his thoughts.

The problem with being lodged in the Hulk’s singularly-focused mind was that whatever the Hulk imagined, Loki was compelled to imagine as well--and the more the Hulk imagined bludgeoning Loki to death, the more convincing it all became. 

“ _Stop it,_ ” Loki protested, annoyed at first as the Hulk kept trying to pummel him, enormous green fists crashing through him as if through one of his illusions. Hulk kept picturing Loki crushed and bloody, a heap on the ground, and the mental images were pulling Loki down. “ _Stop this now!_ ”

But the Hulk didn’t stop—and Loki knew he was on thin ice, mere seconds away from the Hulk _beating him_ out of the control he now exerted in his mind. Loki thought quickly, thought of everything he knew about the Hulk, everything in Banner’s gruesomely explicit file, and took a risk: he crouched down, made himself small—and then smaller, _younger_ , until he knew he looked like a child, until he was barely bigger than a toddler--and he looked up at the Hulk with the roundest, clearest, winter-sky eyes, in a round little face that looked no more than three years old. He balled his tiny hands into fists at his sides. 

“Stop!” the little Loki yelled, at the top of his little lungs. 

And the Hulk, _knowing_ this was still Loki, knowing this was all a trick, a lie--sneered at Loki’s tiny form and gnashed his teeth, and raised his fists to smash the fake little boy to bits, to smash him out of looking so small, smash him out of Hulk’s brain, smash him out of existence—

But couldn’t do it. Stopping abruptly, and then groaning in frustration, the Hulk hid his face in his hands. “NO,” he said, shoulders shuddering. “No. _Loki cheating._ Not fair.” 

“Yes, that’s right.” Loki’s young voice was a silver bell. “Do you understand? You can’t hurt me.” There were tears in his eyes—as a child, yelling had always made him cry. 

“Hulk can’t hurt you,” Hulk agreed, in utter anguish. He sat down cross-legged, his elbows on his knees and his face in his palms. “…Get out,” Hulk told the image of the little Loki. “Get out of Hulk’s head!” 

“Bruce let me in,” Loki said, and allowed his voice to slide a little. “I’m here to help.” 

“Loki here to _hurt,_ ” Hulk seethed.

Loki shifted his voice a little more, back towards his normal voice, and began to gradually change shape again, beginning to turn back into his regular self. “I only want to look at your memories,” he told the Hulk, cautiously moving closer. 

Hulk banged both his fists on the floor at his sides. “Memories hurt.” 

Loki’s expression flinched at that, but he raised his hand, stepped in again. “Not these memories, surely,” he said gently, and reached forward just enough to touch the Hulk’s face.

_There._ Loki had both of them now, Bruce on the surface, and the Hulk deep within Bruce’s mind. 

Now he just had to connect them. 

Back in the mess hall, Loki blindly brought his other hand to the other side of Bruce’s head, imagining that he held the Hulk’s head there, pressed ear-to-ear with Bruce’s. He imagined pushing their two heads together, until they overlapped. It wouldn’t be a permanent fix, but as long as Loki was there in Bruce’s brain he figured he could bridge the divide; he could hold the two parts together. 

Bruce’s mind went willingly, simplifying things somewhat; but then again Bruce had agreed to this—the Hulk hadn’t. 

“Don’t want to,” Hulk complained, as Loki started dragging his mind towards Bruce’s. “Don’t want to!”

“Thor wants you to,” Loki told him, and sure enough, that worked. Hulk stopped resisting, and Loki pushed his mind into place—and went straight for his memories. 

Starting at the top. 

Bruce became aware of the Hulk’s most recent memory, which felt like no more than a dream: Loki in his head, Loki flickering in and out of opacity as the Hulk thought about beating him to death, and then Loki suddenly changing form, taking the shape of a little boy. _Of course,_ Bruce realized, feeling everything the Hulk had been feeling, with painful clarity. Hulk knew where he came from, knew he was originally born from a boy no bigger than that. _Hulk wouldn’t hurt a child. Clever of Loki to figure that out._

And then the next memory back—Hulk catching up with Thor in the captain’s quarters, feeling overwhelmingly distressed at the thought of anyone turning out like their father—fathers were far from heroes in the Hulk’s eyes, and the idea that anyone, especially someone as good as Thor, could be destined to turn out just like their dad was beyond horrifying, it was evil—it made Thor seem contaminated somehow, cursed-- _that makes sense too,_ Bruce admitted to himself. _That someone can be destined to turn out like their father is the thought I hate the most._

Then there were scenes of the gladiators on the ship, telling Hulk how much they admired him, how glad they were that he too had escaped from Sakaar, bragging to him that they’d blown up the Grandmaster’s tower and the arena itself, thanks to Loki’s help—

And before that, Hulk jumping up to the supercruiser with Thor and Valkyrie safe in his arms—just after a spectacular memory of a gigantic fire-demon, raging as huge as a mountain, with a flaming sword poised to cleave Asgard in two—and Hulk leaping fearlessly at it, eager to fight it, eager to beat it. Bruce remembered the feelings so clear now, the strength, the power of the Hulk, his desire to fight all the monsters, the bigger the better--he could beat them all.

There was also the wolf, which Bruce remembered seeing on the bridge before he decided to jump out of the Commodore—but now he remembered the Hulk pulling the wolf’s tail, wrestling it underwater—Bruce remembered the wolf biting him, almost felt it happen. And he remembered the ocean pouring off the edge of Asgard into space or something—that didn’t quite make sense—

And then Hulk was waking up, sort of, in bed on the Commodore, feeling sleepy, and—after Thor said he would stay—feeling safe: safe enough to voluntarily go back to sleep, knowing Bruce would take over. This was surprising; Bruce had been there, too, just under the surface, and had assumed he’d overpowered the Hulk at that point and stayed present by the force of his own will—now he saw it wasn’t so. Hulk had let Thor put him under. Hulk had let Bruce reappear, and that was amazing. 

But before that—the next memory down was awful, the transformation in the Quinjet, when Hulk did not want Bruce to come back at all—but the sight of Natasha, and guilt, and _grief_ overwhelmed him, and Thor had run away from him, had abandoned him—Thor had left him and Hulk wanted Thor to stay, wanted it more badly than he’d ever wanted anything else, and he’d had the truly horrific thought that maybe what he felt for Thor was _wrong_ , and Bruce felt more sympathy for the Hulk in that memory than he ever had before, and all that horribleness had started when Thor crashed through a window—

And then Bruce got to remember, for the first time, the Hulk’s living quarters on Sakaar: the lounge area with all its comfy cushions, the collection of random weapons and pieces of armor, the fancy alcohol that Val would come over and drink with him. The awesome hot tub, which was the Hulk’s favorite feature, the ball he’d throw against the wall for hours, over and over. The massive animal skull containing the bed, the jarring red-and-white color scheme. Hulk was _happy_ there, Bruce realized, Bruce remembered. It wasn’t so bad—and best of all Thor was there, practically glowing, talking to Valkyrie and getting that awful obedience disk off his neck. Thor didn’t seem like a slave at all, Bruce was relieved to note—he seemed normal, he seemed _better_ than normal, actually, and Hulk seemed that way too, and Bruce realized it was the first time the Hulk had ever felt like that, so hopeful, so whole. So… _in love._

Because the night before that— 

He’d given Thor a backrub, and Thor had convinced him he wanted more than that after all, and then Thor had climbed on top of him, at first still with his pants on--but soon they’d both been gloriously naked. And then Bruce remembered, as Hulk remembered, Thor _like that_ —those magnificent legs spread wide, wide apart, straddling Hulk’s hips, grinding against him, Thor’s big hands squeezing the Hulk so tight it was _just right_ , it was everything. Then there was Thor pressed against the wall, Hulk behind him sliding up against Thor’s naked back, overflowing the channel of his spine, rippling Thor’s golden skin as he pushed against him, over and over. 

_Whoa._ Bruce was feeling everything, seeing everything from the Hulk’s point of view. Hulk was in awe of Thor, that was clear. In awe and infatuated, full to the brim with emotions Bruce had rarely—maybe never—touched. Hulk wasn’t holding back, wasn’t afraid. He was willing to do anything, anything Thor wanted. No inhibitions. No dark void of dread. To remember _sex_ like that was all new for Bruce—he’d never felt half as free as the Hulk did. 

At one point Thor tried to _bite_ the Hulk a little, which barely tickled—but gave Hulk an idea, and soon enough he had Thor on his back on the bed, one green hand wrapped carefully into a fist and giving Thor everything he needed, all the heat and friction in the world—and Hulk pressed his face against the inside of Thor’s thigh and bit down, pinching a huge mouthful of the skin and the muscle beneath with his teeth—and Thor went crazy for that, yelling, swearing, clamping his legs together around Hulk’s neck, hard enough to give the Hulk just the first white-stars tingle of an impending chokehold, which of course made this all seem slightly more like _fighting_ , except it was completely different. Hulk rocked forward, Thor’s hips coming up, and Hulk slid underneath him, between Thor and the bed.

He did that for a while, and that was good—but their eyes met and they realized it could be even better, maybe, and Thor’s expression said ‘why not’ and Bruce couldn’t believe it, but Thor let Hulk try it, scooted down against him and caught him with one hand, holding him steady as Thor tried his best to actually take the Hulk in—

And Hulk watched him, didn’t _push_ , didn’t force it—just waited for him with so much patience, thinking this must be impossible, and Bruce knew it had to be impossible—and finally Thor gave up. “Oh well,” he panted, sitting up to pat Hulk on the hip. “Guess I was right. That’s not happening.”

“Too big,” Hulk huffed, stating the obvious. 

“Too big,” Thor repeated, still a little out of breath. “I’d have to get bigger, you’d have to get smaller, or I guess maybe I could get _stretchier_ somehow—” Thor made a face.

“It’s okay,” Hulk told him, and Bruce was amazed at how sincere he was—Hulk didn’t feel the least bit disappointed, he wasn’t frustrated, wasn’t angry—there was nothing negative at all, in the Hulk’s emotions, during any of this—and there was nothing negative on Thor’s side of things either, as far as Bruce could tell--what a revelation. 

Thor appeared totally fine with what he wasn’t able to do; and it was honestly so reassuring for Bruce somehow, to realize that even a god could have boundaries, could have a limit. It was no problem for Thor to stop trying something that wasn’t working out, and just move on, without any guilt, any shame—he had no shame in saying yes, no shame in saying no. And no shame in changing his mind. For Bruce, who routinely felt shame for all of those things, especially when it came to sex, the feelings he was remembering now seemed almost sacred, almost miraculous. Hulk and Thor were perfect for each other. Bruce had been crazy not to realize it, crazier still for thinking either of them could have had a negative motive in their heart. 

“Hands just as good,” Hulk remarked, and Thor’s eyes crinkled in a smile. 

“ _Mmm,_ ” Thor said, with a little sideways shake of his head. “Not quite. But at least they’re good enough.” 

And Thor got back to work, giving the Hulk all his attention, their bodies hot and huge and sweating, holding on to each other, getting closer—and it took _forever_ \--Bruce had never lasted half that long, not even in his twenties—but finally Hulk was overwhelmed, and it was all too wonderful, too much, too _hard_ , and he let go and cried, and came. 

“Ohmygod,” said Bruce aloud, abruptly opening his eyes. 

Loki dropped his hands away from Bruce’s face, looking downright astonished. They were both breathing a little short and fast, both blushing—but especially Loki. 

“Hey, wait a minute,” Bruce realized in a huff. “Did—did you just watch your brother have sex with me??”

Loki’s eyebrows climbed. “I’ve seen him do far worse things, I assure you.” 

Bruce read the look on his face. “Wait, so—you thought it was hot?!”

“Didn’t you?” Loki asked plainly. 

“Well…yeah,” Bruce admitted, blushing brighter. 

“I _had_ intended to extrapolate the perspective of a third party so that I could let you watch that part by yourself, but, it,” Loki swallowed. “It was very distracting. Actually…” Loki paused, took stock, thought searchingly about how he was feeling. 

He was feeling… _relieved?_ The gnawing, the need, the steam that had been building in his blood for days, was gone.

“Oh,” Loki realized in surprise. 

“What is it?” Bruce asked, suspicious. 

“Nothing, I—I think we solved my problem,” Loki admitted, regaining the lead in the blushing contest. 

Bruce blinked at him, and began to notice that Loki did seem subtly different—seemed more relaxed, more normal, less alluring. Thank goodness. 

“So all you had to do was watch someone else get off?!” Bruce wondered aloud. “That counted?” 

“It must have,” Loki said. “And technically I wasn’t just watching, I was in your memories, I was… feeling it.” 

Bruce shook his head, weirded-out. “All I felt was the Hulk—if you were in there too, I am totally happy I wasn’t aware of it. No offense.” 

“None taken,” Loki granted. “I trust you, em, found what you were looking for?” 

“Let’s see—a positive experience with sex, where nobody was coerced or taken advantage of, where both people were totally full of acceptance and, just, joy and appreciation, and no anger at all, and one of those people was me? And I really got to feel those feelings, feel that power, that love--Yeah. I may not have known exactly what I needed from the Hulk’s memories but, yeah. I guess I found it.” 

“Good,” said Loki, standing up. Bruce stood up too, and they regarded one another. Loki’s face softened into a smile. “I’m happy for you,” he said, and it didn’t sound snide. “And now…I think you need to go find my brother.” 

“Oh yeah, definitely,” Bruce agreed, and then, just spur-of-the-moment, he gave Loki a hug. 

“Thank you,” Bruce said, both arms wrapped tight around Loki’s chest. Loki brought one arm up, briefly, around Bruce’s side, and for the quickest instant, hugged him back. 

“All right, get out of here,” Loki feigned annoyance, stepping back, still smiling a little. “Before I cause some mischief for you.” 

Bruce grinned, looked just a tiny bit scared, and took off down the corridor, nearly at a run.


	31. Thor can take it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey there, line between M and E ratings, how ya doin' my old friend? *winks at the line*  
> I see you there. I know what side I'm on.

Bruce found Thor almost exactly where he’d left him, sitting dejectedly on the bed in the captain’s cabin. 

“Thor,” Bruce said, his voice already sounding a little ragged, with just that one syllable. Thor looked up in relief and expectation. “You were right.”

“I was?” Thor sounded incredulous, like that could not possibly be the case. 

Bruce crossed the room and leaned down to hug him—it was an awkward action from that angle, almost a tackle, especially since Bruce seemed to be in a hurry—and the result was that Thor caught Bruce in his arms, and let momentum topple them backwards onto the bed. 

“I needed to get on the same page as the Hulk,” Bruce explained, now chest-to-chest with Thor, and perfectly comfortable there, basking in that familiar electric glow of physical contact. “And you were right about him: he’s _good_ —and he’s in love with you, the same as I am. You’re the best thing that ever happened to us—and,” he blushed, and his voice got quiet. “I want to make love to you.” 

There was a beat, just half a tick, and then Thor said “oh, good,” in this cheerful little exhale of breath, and then they were kissing, and Thor finally slid his hands around Bruce’s ears and then up into his hair, and Bruce couldn’t wait to get their clothes off—

“Hey, wait a second--” Thor thought of something, held Bruce’s face a few inches away from his own, and squinted at him in doubt. “Are you _sure_ you’re really Bruce?”

“Uh, yeah, why?” Bruce asked, confused. 

“You’re not _Loki_ in disguise for some reason?” Thor actually asked. 

“Oh my god, seriously?” Bruce said, aghast. He sat up, as this was too absurd to discuss lying down. “You think he’d really do that to you?”

“Hmm…” Thor scowled, considering. “I hope not.”

“It’s really me,” Bruce promised. “Oh jeez. How can I prove it? Short of like, Hulking out, but,” a panicked look crossed his face. “I just realized Loki could totally do that, too.”

“He wouldn’t be as strong as Hulk though,” Thor pointed out. “So maybe you should…”

Bruce gave him a look. “You’re saying you want to arm-wrestle the Hulk or something just to make sure I’m really me??” 

“Have you got a better idea?” Thor asked, slightly desperate. “I mean, I am 99% sure that you’re Bruce, but,” 

“99%?” Bruce blinked. “I’m okay with that, I mean, do you want to just, like, risk it? Or do you need to make totally sure?”

“Ehh…” Thor grit his teeth and looked like he was definitely leaning towards ‘risk it’. 

“Hang on--” Bruce thought of something, searching around the room. “There’s gotta be an intercom or something,” he muttered, and then spotted it, almost falling off the bed in his haste to reach it. 

“Hello?” Bruce said as he pushed the button. “Attention, spaceship. This is Bruce Banner. If Loki’s around, can he please come up to the captain’s cabin? Thanks. Oh and also, as soon as possible. Um, thanks again.” 

Thor and Bruce looked at each other, and it was just one of those things: first they huffed, and then they chuckled, and by the time a defensive-yet-curious Loki showed up to see what this was all about, they were both weak from laughter, heaving and whining for breath, steadying each other by the arms. 

“Have you both gone mad?” Loki asked, cross. “What’s so funny?”

“Loki, catch,” said Bruce between happy gasps for air, and threw a pillow at him. 

Loki dodged it, and Bruce put his hands on his head in dismay. “Oh nooo,” he exclaimed. “That doesn’t prove anything, does it? Because he could have made the illusion dodge it!” 

“What?” Loki asked, as Thor doubled over in a fresh fit of giggles. 

Thor threw a second pillow, which Loki also dodged, to their renewed howls of laughter. Loki wasn’t amused in the least. “Is this your game now, throwing things at me? Are you actually children?” 

Bruce collected himself, somewhat. “Sorry, I’m—sorry Loki. We just had to make sure I’m not you.” 

“What in the Nine—” Loki caught himself, frowned. “Well, actually there’s only _Eight_ , now, aren’t there? Unless ‘people’ count as a Realm, which I somehow doubt. Anyway what are you talking about? Why would I be you?”

“Well,” Bruce recounted awkwardly, “I sort of, barged in here with declarations of romantic intent, and, uhm,” 

Loki blinked, and stared at Thor. “I see. And Thor thought I was borrowing your appearance.” He thought about trying to look insulted, but decided not to bother. He quirked an eyebrow. “…I’m actually impressed that you thought of that. I guess you have learned something, after all.” 

“But now it’s like, how can we prove it, right?” Bruce continued, glad that Loki didn’t seem injured by Thor’s frankly atrocious suspicion. “Because, this could all be _you_ , even now, like with magic and illusions. Especially since you saw inside my head—you could know everything I know, so there might not be any questions that are like, something I would know that you wouldn’t. Like if Thor asks me to prove I’m me, by asking me what color pajamas I wore on the Org—I mean the Commodore,”

“Purple,” Loki answered, understanding Bruce’s dilemma. 

Thor’s mouth fell open, his brow furrowing. “Now just a minute,” he said loudly. “How’d you know that?” He turned to Bruce. “And what do you mean, he saw inside your head? When was that?”

Loki heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Just a little while ago. I was in Bruce’s mind, looking at the Hulk’s memories. And the Hulk was there, on the Commodore, for a brief moment—remember? He was wearing purple pajamas.” 

“Why were you looking at the Hulk’s memories?!” Thor demanded, starting to sound upset. He grabbed Bruce’s shoulders, and crouched down a little to peer at his face in concern. “Loki invaded your mind?!?” 

“He didn’t invade it, he was invited,” Bruce explained, patting Thor’s arms in an attempt to soothe him. “I thought it would help me if I could see the Hulk’s memories, and, Loki made that happen.” Thor glanced up at Loki in mistrust, and Loki gave him a prim little smile in response. “And I have to say,” Bruce continued. “It was exactly what I needed. It was really nice of Loki to do that for me.”

Bruce shot Loki a look of heartfelt gratefulness, which Loki absorbed with pride. “Happy to help,” Loki said, in a way he _knew_ would needle Thor. 

“Grr,” Thor growled, duly needled. He faced Bruce again. “So you saw the Hulk’s memories—like, years of killing people in the arena? Being the Champion? Being put on display by the Grandmaster, you saw all that?”

“Uh, no, I didn’t see the arena, actually,” Bruce admitted, starting to feel a little sweaty at the thought of what those memories must be like. “We only went back the last few days. Back to when you jumped through the window and ran away, and, um, the night before that.” 

Bruce blushed, and then Thor blushed too. “Oh-- _oh_.” Thor was extremely interested, now. “You saw that? I mean, you actually remember that now?” 

“Yes,” Bruce said. “I remember it. Kind of, um, vividly.” 

“Oh,” Thor said again, and cupped Bruce’s face in his hands, leaning towards his mouth. 

“ _Ahem,_ ” Loki interrupted, to remind them he was still there. 

“Right,” Bruce said, sounding startled. He glanced guiltily between Loki and his brother. “Um, also, Loki saw it too.” 

“ _Oh,_ ” Thor repeated, using the same word but now in a completely different tone. He frowned at Loki in disapproval. Loki canted his head and shrugged, palms out, the very picture of what-can-one-do. 

“Anyway how do we know Loki isn’t mind-controlling you at this very moment?” Thor grumbled, talking to Bruce while glaring at Loki. “If he was all the way inside your head he might still be there, for all we know.” 

Loki sighed and shook his head. “I assure you, I am not mind-controlling anyone, all right?”

“Why do you have to have stupid mind-control powers, anyway?” Thor demanded to know. “It’s too ridiculous.” 

“Why do _you_ have to have stupid ‘lightning’ powers??” Loki demanded right back. “If anything’s ridiculous, it’s you.” 

“Boys, settle down,” Bruce stifled a laugh, and rubbed his eyes. “Don’t make me stuff the two of you into a ‘we-will-get-along’ shirt.” 

“A what?” Thor asked, wrinkling up his nose. 

“It’s a big shirt that two kids, siblings, have to wear at the same time, to get along with each other,” Bruce explained. “Never mind—it’s like a meme thing, on the internet. On Earth.” 

The mention of Earth, oddly enough, calmed them both right down, made them both seem a bit ashamed for bickering. 

“Look,” Loki tried again, being as open as he dared. “I know my word means little at this point but I think I know how to show you that in this particular case, I’m completely aboveboard.”

“Okay… how?” Thor seemed skeptical. 

Loki smiled. “It’s simple. I’ll let you read my mind.” 

“Urgh,” Thor sounded distressed. He looked at Bruce for guidance. “…this is definitely a trap.” 

“Just do it,” Bruce encouraged. “The sooner you’re convinced that I’m not under some spell, the sooner you and I can, um, make some new memories, right?”

“Fine,” Thor acquiesced, grumpily. He looked warily at his brother. “Convince me.”

Loki took Thor’s wrist, and pressed Thor’s palm squarely to his forehead. 

He closed his eyes, and led Thor in—not too far, not to the darker parts, just to the events of the past hour, really—ever since Loki’d run into Bruce out in the hallway, and accidentally burnt his knuckles with cold. Loki had decided that Bruce would be safe from him. _I’ll not hurt this one_ , Loki had decided, and had then, gradually, taken that decision to the next level: _I’ll help him._

_Why?_ Thor wondered impatiently. 

Loki’s very next thought answered his question. _For Thor._

It had been a long time since Thor had felt so keenly unworthy. 

_Bruce and Thor need one another,_ Loki had figured out, during his conversation with Bruce. _They’re good together, good for each other. Bruce and Hulk just need this tiny bit of help. I bet I can do it._

And then when Loki’s efforts paid off, and Bruce had what he needed, (and Loki had accidentally helped himself too), Loki meant it when he said he was happy for Bruce. He sincerely wanted him and Thor to be together, and had no intention of getting in their way.

_It’s for you,_ Loki thought, knowing Thor would get it, would understand it was true. _Accept it._

Loki felt Thor lift his hand away, and opened his eyes. 

“Well?” Bruce asked Thor, curious. “Are you convinced?”

“I’m convinced.” Thor seemed thoroughly humbled. 

Bruce looked back and forth between them, these two ridiculous brothers, these equally ridiculous gods. “…Will you please just hug each other already??” Bruce begged. 

Thor sighed. “Already tried that today,” he admitted, a touch of sadness in his voice. “Didn’t work.” 

“For goodness’ sake,” Loki hissed, and stepped in, and hugged his brother. 

And Thor of course hugged him back. 

“aww,” said Bruce, and his heart felt big. “…You know,” he suggested mildly. “I honestly wouldn’t even mind if you two kissed.” 

Loki narrowed his eyes at Bruce, looking down at him over Thor’s shoulder. “Do you want him for yourself or not?” he demanded. 

“I do, I just, maybe I could share?” Bruce wondered aloud. 

Loki and Thor both took a sharp breath in—and as they were still hugging, this meant their lungs expanded against each other, and they each felt the pressure—and pulled back a little, each giving space to his brother. Their eyes met, and in unison, they both said: “no.” 

Their voices were equally warm, equally fond. And equally firm. 

As they stepped apart, Thor immediately put his arm around Bruce’s shoulders. 

“That’s a generous little mortal you’ve got there,” Loki remarked, with a complimentary nod at Bruce. 

“Little?” Thor scoffed. “There’s nothing little about him.” 

“Oh, I know,” Loki said, a playful spark in his eyes. “Congratulations.” 

Thor blushed and Bruce giggled, wrapping an arm around Thor’s waist. 

“My work here is done,” Loki pronounced, only halfway facetiously, with just the right amount of sarcasm. He gave them both a smile, and he left them to each other.

“…You’re 100% sure now, that I’m me?” Bruce asked Thor, once Loki had gone.

“I’m 100% sure now,” said Thor, bending down to meet Bruce’s lips. “That I’m yours.” 

…and goddamn if that didn’t do the trick. Bruce was rock-hard in an instant, and by the time they got back to the bed Thor was too, and they murmured little ‘mmh’s and ‘hmm’s at each other as they got undressed, and it didn’t even occur to Bruce to be frightened at all. 

As soon as he could, Bruce ran both his hands down Thor’s naked legs, thumbs dragging down the insides of his thighs, and he knew Thor liked that, so he dug his thumbs into the softest parts of those legs he could find and bent his head down, and Thor came apart for him as Bruce figured out what to do with his mouth—his human mouth that wasn’t so big or rough as the Hulk’s, but was honestly just perfect for this. 

Thor had both his hands on Bruce’s head, fingers in his hair, pulling him up so he would breathe, so it wouldn’t be too much for him. Abruptly Bruce changed tack, and pressed his lips to the place the Hulk had bitten, where he was slightly surprised to notice there was no trace of a mark, no sign of a bruise, despite how hard Bruce was sure that bite had been. “Here?” Bruce mumbled, and kissed that spot, and was rewarded with the sight of the underside of Thor’s chin as Thor arched up and rubbed the back of his head against the bed, groaning. 

“You remember,” Thor rumbled, voice low, full of heat. 

“Oh yeah,” Bruce purred back at him, and scraped his teeth over Thor’s skin. “Just don’t squeeze my neck with your legs this time, or you’ll definitely choke me out,” he said, sounding amused, and then he _bit_ the inside of Thor’s thigh in just that exact place, and wasn’t shy about it at all, and hoped he did it half as good as when the Hulk had done it—which, judging by Thor’s reaction, he did. 

Things proceeded amazingly well from there, and Thor was careful not to choke him at all, and wore out his mouth in just a couple of minutes, letting him know what a good job he’d done (and also that he didn’t have to keep doing it) by making an enthusiastic mess all over the both of them. Bruce sat back on his heels and caught his breath, a little stunned by what had just happened, since he’d never done anything like that before--but before his brain had time to fully reboot he saw Thor turn over right in front of him, prop himself up on his elbows _right in front of him_ , and look back at Bruce over his shoulder in invitation, and Bruce thought he might die (again). 

Thor was the best, Bruce thought in awe, somewhere in the back of his mind. Thor was amazing. Thor was the most beautiful thing Bruce had ever seen. “…Right now?” Bruce asked helplessly. 

“Whenever you want,” Thor replied agreeably, but with an obvious undertone of _please now._

“Right now, okay,” Bruce resolved, and grabbed Thor’s ass with both hands, that insanely perfect _ass_ , which Bruce expected to be as hard as a rock, 

But Thor was completely relaxed, and Bruce whimpered a little in amazement as he discovered his fingers could indent that skin, his hands could squeeze those muscles, pull them. 

“Thor?” Bruce’s voice hitched. “I have to tell you, I don’t know how to do this.” 

Thor grinned back at him, unconcerned. “You’re a scientist,” he said blithely. “Use one of your PhDs.” 

_None of them are for fucking alien demigods,_ Bruce didn’t say, but laughed at the thought. “Just, please, try to make it easy for me, if you can?” he asked, and was not even sure he knew what he meant. 

But Thor understood perfectly. “Don’t worry,” he said fondly. “It doesn’t have to be easy. I can take it.” 

Bruce felt a shudder go all the way through him, and it even briefly occurred to him that he might be, like, about to Hulk out. “Ohmygod don’t say things like that,” Bruce groaned, in a breathy voice that Thor correctly interpreted to mean, _please say all the things like that._

“Hmm,” Thor smirked at him, and repeated in a lower voice, “ _I can take it._ ” 

“Fuck,” said Bruce, 

And so they did.


	32. Genius superhero doctor

For someone who claimed not to know how to do this, Bruce sure caught on quick. But of course Bruce was a brilliant genius, and this was something it didn’t take an abundance of brainpower to figure out. Thor suspected that overthinking it would ruin it a little—you just had to do it, not think about it. 

For the moment, it seemed like most of Bruce’s incredible brain was probably not participating much—but the rest of Bruce was participating splendidly, and Thor was enjoying every inch of it, his knees sliding further and further apart as Bruce drove him down onto the bed. 

This was _exercise_ for Bruce, Thor realized eventually. He decided he should be helping out a little more, and vaguely recalled how to do that—but the instant he tried it, Bruce yelled something that sounded like gibberish and seized up and for a split-second Thor worried that he might have accidentally hurt him somehow—but then Bruce collapsed on top of him and Thor realized all was well. 

“’m sorry,” was the first word Bruce mumbled into the back of Thor’s shoulder, after gasping for a while and then remembering how to speak. 

Thor shook his head a little, confused. “Oh no, you don’t have to be _sorry_ , why are you sorry?” he wondered. 

“I don’t even know,” Bruce lamented with a sigh. “I just figured I probably hadn’t… I mean it’s not as if I could go on for hours like the Hulk.”

Thor mulled that over for a minute. “Did you want to go on for hours?” he asked at last, gently. 

Bruce laughed, a tired little noise. “Not especially, I guess—I mean, of course I do, if _you_ want to, but I didn’t even bother to ask if there was anything I--”

It occurred to Thor then, as Bruce rambled on in a curiously self-reprimanding manner, that he must have neglected to assure Bruce of just how wonderful this whole experience had been for him. He rolled over, carefully resettling Bruce beside him, and snuggled down against him until his head was resting on Bruce’s chest, one wide arm wrapped around his midsection. 

“That was everything I wanted,” Thor said contentedly, interrupting Bruce’s awkward stream of half-started thoughts. 

“…Shouldn’t I ask if you,” Bruce attempted to collect his thoughts. “Want to…trade places?”

Thor shook his head, and Bruce could hear the smile in his voice. “No. I liked it just the way we did it.”

Bruce let out a breath, and Thor loved the feeling of Bruce’s chest relaxing against his cheek. “Heh, I could tell,” Bruce muttered happily, and Thor knew he was blushing. 

“Oh good,” Thor replied, glad that his own feelings had been, as usual, easy enough for other people to fathom. “…I was worried for a minute that you’d thought you weren’t good enough or something.” 

“Well, I mean,” Bruce said awkwardly. “I’m obviously not.” 

It pained Thor that his uncomfortable suspicion had been correct after all. “…Why would you say that?” he wondered quietly. 

“Are you kidding me? I’m an average, middle-aged, human—”

“Genius, superhero, _doctor_ \--” Thor began to override him.

“ _Basket case_ of psych disorders,” Bruce finished, cutting him off. “Give me a break.”

“Give yourself a break,” Thor told him, in total sincerity. “I may not know what sort of science things you were researching on Earth but I know you devoted your life to helping others, and not just out of guilt for the Hulk. As far as humans go you’re certainly among the most admirable. As for ‘average’, I’m not sure what your standards are, but as far as I know, you’re the only person in the galaxy who has ever managed to capture lightning into a solid form, using little more than the parts of a protonic resonance heater and a couple of forks—I don’t even think _Loki_ could do that with all his magic. As for ‘middle-aged’—” Thor stopped abruptly, as he realized, as it hit him. 

Bruce froze, and his chest stopped rising beneath Thor’s cheek, as if he were afraid to waste a single breath. Thor clung to him, held him, impossibly still. He wished what everyone wished, in the arms of someone they loved: that it could last forever. 

But of course it couldn’t. Bruce resumed breathing, calm and slow. “I’ve probably got thirty good years left,” he said evenly. 

“ _Thirty,_ ” Thor echoed incredulously. With Jane he’d imagined having sixty, seventy years ahead of them—when he’d bothered to think of it, which was rarely enough. Somewhere in that span of time he’d figured he would be able to make up his mind to either be a mortal with her or maybe bring her to Asgard and prolong her life somehow—all brash, childish imaginings, it seemed to him now. And now, with Asgard gone, with the situation as it was...

“Life is short,” Bruce summarized. 

Thor shook his head, just a tiny motion. “Your life is the longest measurable reality you’ll ever know.”

Bruce was surprised. He’d never thought about it like that, although of course it was true. His life would be the longest thing he’d ever know—except--

He took a short breath. “I don’t know what will happen to the Hulk,” he blurted out. “I’m kind of afraid that I’ll die of old age someday and he, uh, won’t.” 

Thor frowned, trying to picture that. “Or maybe,” he wondered aloud. “Since Hulk brings you back from other deaths…?”

“…He’d bring me back if I died of _old age_?” Bruce sighed. “I’ve thought of that, but I think it’s more likely that I’ll just permanently check out someday, and hopefully Hulk will go with me at the same time. I have no idea what will happen to him if we separate at that point and he keeps our body and stays behind alone.” 

Thor thought Bruce and Hulk were probably supposed to stay together, especially through death, but he was tentatively willing to consider the possibility that they wouldn’t—and he thought that perhaps that wouldn’t be so bad, either. “If that happens,” Thor spoke up. “I mean if your natural human death happens and the Hulk is left behind somehow, without you?” he hugged Bruce a little tighter. “At least he’ll have me. Granted, I don’t know the future and for all I know any of us could die tomorrow, but if things work out naturally, I should still be around for a couple thousand more years, at least.”

“And…you’re saying you’d take care of the Hulk for me? For all that time?” there was a tremor in Bruce’s voice. 

Thor had no problem imagining doing exactly that; Hulk by his side from here on, battling enemies with the descendants of the current Avengers, exploring the galaxy together once Midgard was finally secure and peaceful enough not to need the help of a couple of heavyweight brawlers quite so often. If they weren’t winning battles together, Thor thought he and Hulk could probably manage an intergalactic voyage to seek out all the planets with the best geothermal pools, spend some time sampling whatever the furthest corners of the universe had to offer in the way of beer. Once a century or so they might go to Muspelheim to hunt dragons, to help keep that particular species at a sustainable density. Hulk would love hunting dragons.

“Of course,” Thor answered, with carefree happiness. “He’d take care of me, too. Can’t you just picture me and Hulk, all gray-haired and gray-bearded, soaking in a hot spring under some flowering trees at the other end of the galaxy, an array of moons above us and great pitchers of beer in our hands, raising a toast to the fortieth generation of Tony Stark’s great-great granddaughters?”

Bruce laughed; that was not a future he would have ever come up with on his own, but as Thor described it he found he could picture it. “Tony’s great-great-granddaughters, huh?”

“Twins, probably,” Thor said. “Who might very well be there with us, I imagine, on account of their owning whatever spaceship we’ll have flown there.”

“You’ve got a thing for _twins?_ ” Bruce teased. 

“No worse than anyone else,” Thor said lightheartedly. “Two may be better than one.” 

Bruce was still giggling at the thought of Thor and Hulk as a pair of grizzled old drinking buddies at the end of the universe—Tony’s notional descendants would of course be a couple of supermodels in twinkling bikinis, who had obviously inherited Tony’s ostentatious collection of sunglasses—a ridiculous scene, absurd, and yet also so…charming. 

“…I love you,” Bruce realized all over again. “And I’m still not sure what we ever did to deserve you, but, I’m glad you love the Hulk, and me, too.” 

Thor hugged him for a minute in silence, basking in Bruce’s acceptance, his approval. Bruce’s perspective on the Hulk had changed; it no longer seemed totally negative. Thor’s heart soared with hope, and he knew it was time to ask Bruce a particularly important question. “That reminds me,” Thor spoke up eventually. “Remember when you said that you might be willing to, uh, share?”

Bruce frowned, remembering nothing of the sort. “Share what?” he wondered. 

“Me,” Thor stated, and felt Bruce stiffen beside him. “I was happy that you’d consider being that generous, because, even though I’m pretty sure this is a given now, I still feel like I ought to ask you directly,” Thor propped himself up on his elbow so he could gaze evenly into Bruce’s eyes. “…Will you share me, with the Hulk?”

Bruce’s mouth fell open, like he couldn’t believe that was really still in question. “Of course I will,” he said softly. “Anytime—as often as you want. I’m not afraid of getting stuck as him anymore. He’s yours as much as I am.”

“Thank you,” Thor smiled at him, fit to burst with happiness, and bent over Bruce’s face to kiss his forehead, right between the eyes. Bruce remembered the Hulk’s memory of Thor kissing him, right there, and felt a wave of the Hulk’s emotions dragging at him, as if to pull him back and change their places at that very moment. 

Bruce realized he wouldn’t mind letting that happen, but there was one thing he had to do first. “While you’ve still got the human part of me here for the moment…” Bruce took a breath, and pushed his thoughts over that cliff, between the black-and-white lines of the words in his file. “There are some things you should know,” he looked at Thor and his eyes darkened, becoming windows into unhealed sorrow. “About all my psych disorders…and why one of them is the Hulk.” 

 

Thor listened.

He didn’t want to believe any of it, didn’t want it to be true that any child could suffer what Bruce had suffered, didn’t want to believe that any father could do what Bruce’s had done. But he knew, as he heard Bruce explain, what had happened to his mother, and what had continued to happen after that—Thor knew it was all true. 

It was the most horrific story of cruelty that Thor had ever heard. He had nothing in his own experiences for any comparison. He’d grown up under the impression that no child had ever cried as much as Loki—but all of Loki’s misery could barely hold a candle to the inferno of what Bruce had experienced. Loki’d cried for one thing or another, because lights were too bright or Thor too loud or sitting too close to him or borrowing his things without permission but he’d never been _beaten_ for crying, never been held underwater for it. He’d never been degraded, had never been-- it was unthinkable. Odin may have yelled and threatened them both with banishment from time to time but he’d never tortured his sons for his own pleasure. And their mother—Thor remembered with a bright flare of love how his own mother had been slain, a queen and a warrior nobly defending against the enemy: a good death, a glorious death. 

Thor could not imagine, could not begin to conceive, of what it would have meant to him if _Odin_ had been the one who’d killed her. No. It was too impossible to even imagine. A child’s own father, doing any of the things that Bruce’s had done.

There was nothing Thor could say, so he just held Bruce in his arms as best he could, holding that average-middle-aged-human, genius-superhero-doctor, that basket case of disorders whose rage and pain had been strong enough to break his own mind, and whose _mind_ had then been strong enough to bind his rage and pain into its own being.

“I understand now,” Thor said at last, solemnly. “Why you’re the strongest Avenger.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone!! Really trying to get this done before Infinity War... less than a week left! The final few chapters will be up fast. Please leave a note if you can; comments are my life and a huge encouragement. The next chapter's called "A Hulk and a Jotun walk into a bar" and I'm super excited about it. hehehheh....


	33. A Hulk and a Jotun walk into a bar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest. chapter. ever. Also, it's slightly all over the place. ^^;; I hope it makes sense!!

Thor ended up holding Bruce’s hand as he transformed, and then had nearly the same conversation with Hulk as he’d had with Banner, asking Hulk if he would be willing to share. 

Hulk was less enthusiastic about the prospect than Bruce had been, but ultimately he agreed: he would try to share with Banner. Ever since Loki had connected their minds there had been a little bridge open between the two of them, and Hulk was aware that Bruce’s feelings towards him had fundamentally changed. Hulk could tell that Bruce accepted that Thor loved Hulk and that Hulk loved Thor, and accepted it without being jealous. 

Hulk, guiltily, did feel a little jealous himself—he’d been aware of everything Thor and Banner had been doing together and could kind of tell it was different from everything Thor had done with Hulk—for one thing Bruce and Thor hadn’t broken any furniture, and there’d been barely any yelling. Previously, Hulk would have destroyed the entire ship and maybe even a nearby solar system in rage at the thought of Banner so much as touching Thor, but with a connection to Bruce’s mind now established, Hulk had been able to get a clear sense of Bruce’s thoughts and feelings the whole time, and those had been so good, it had all been _so good,_ that Hulk could barely muster a single wisp of anger. 

“Thor love gentle, soft Banner,” Hulk recounted grudgingly. 

Thor nodded enthusiastically. “Very much.”

“Banner good match, small like Thor,” Hulk rumbled on.

“That’s right,” Thor confirmed. _But actually slightly bigger than Thor in a certain area,_ he corrected mentally, an amused look on his face. Hulk was the only one that Thor would allow to get away with calling Banner small. 

Hulk heaved a sigh, his great shoulders slumping down. “Loki cheated,” he declared. “In Hulk’s head. Couldn’t smash him. Loki show Hulk…Banner not so bad.” 

“I’m really glad for that,” Thor said in reassurance, rubbing Hulk’s arm. “Even if he cheated, Loki’s being kind of good right now—so please try to be nice to him if you can.” 

“Hnn,” Hulk grunted, clearly not crazy about that idea. “Hulk be nice…to Loki? Nuh-uh. Hulk would rather… be nice to Thor.” He glanced at Thor bashfully, hoping that had been the right sort of suggestive thing to say--

Thor took note of the light in the Hulk’s eyes, that little glow of desire, and went happily towards it, a tingle of power sparking through him at just-less-than-visible intensity. “You can be nice to me all you want,” he exclaimed. He rolled and flexed his shoulders, stretched his arms one after the other across his chest, and laughed as the Hulk lifted him up and pulled him close.

 

Loki, meanwhile, had reached the limit of what he was physically willing to endure, and had gone in search of the blessed oblivion of sleep. After relinquishing the captain’s cabin to Thor, he chafed at the idea of taking any other cabin aboard the ship—all the gladiators still assumed Loki to be the captain, and he hated for any of them to discover he’d been bumped out of his cabin by his stupid brother. Better they assume Thor was sharing the cabin with him than know he’d given up his rightful quarters aboard the vessel. 

So, after a final check of operations on the bridge, where everything was in order and everyone understood Loki to be in charge, Loki sought refuge aboard the Commodore. 

While piloting the Commodore on his mission to resurrect Surtur with the eternal flame, Loki had noted that the life support system of the leisure ship was offline—totally fried, no doubt thanks to _someone’s_ inability to control their own lightning powers. Loki had docked the smaller ship atop the Supercruiser and left it connected by an airlock which allowed the Commodore to tap into the larger vessel’s air supply, but the periodically cycled air did very little to alleviate the cold. Loki knew he could rig a repair to the LSS with one of the batteries he’d brought from Sakaar, but for tonight the subzero temperatures suited him just fine. 

He all but stumbled into the bedroom, knowing exactly where the button was on the wall to retract the dancefloor and reveal the bed, the covers still rumpled from its previous occupants. Loki dropped down onto the portion of the mattress that looked the least used, and settled in flat on his back, sparing a glance upward at the mirrored ceiling. Then, with no one to see him except his own reflection, he turned himself blue. 

His bones ached a little as he settled on what he supposed might be his natural height, if he’d lived any significant portion of his life in his species’ true skin. Loki thought he looked ridiculous as a Jotun, _ugly_ , but at least in this form he could effortlessly sink into a state that was very nearly hibernation, a restorative deep sleep that was much better than the shallow dream-waters treaded by the average Asgardian. 

No one would bother him up here, Loki thought with relief. The LSS was out; the cold would keep everyone away. And that was his final thought as he closed his rubied eyes and finally, finally slept. 

Loki had no way of knowing, never would have guessed, that in a couple of hours he would have a visitor. 

It turned out that Hulk and Thor, after striving valiantly not to demolish their whole cabin in their exuberant reunion, collapsed together in a pile on the bed and fell asleep—but Hulk woke up after an hour or two, and abruptly remembered his other friend, Angry Girl. Hulk had barely seen her, barely talked to her after the battle. He felt a little ashamed for not telling her about Banner, and wanted to make sure she wasn’t mad at him. 

Hulk decided to bring Angry Girl a present, and he knew exactly what sort of present she would like: a bottle of her favorite drink, the kind that came in a giant moonshine-jug. And Hulk remembered, through Bruce’s mind, where some of that alcohol could be found: on the Commodore. 

Thor was totally unconscious, sleeping blissfully in a naked sprawl with one arm and one foot hanging off the bed. Hulk thought about it for a minute, and then decided to cover Thor with a blanket, tugging it up and across his back—but somewhat comically leaving Thor’s lower legs and feet uncovered. Blankets were rarely large enough to cover Hulk’s feet, and Hulk didn’t much like his feet covered anyway, so leaving Thor in that arrangement looked all right to Hulk. 

Hulk rubbed Thor’s back once or twice on top of the blanket he’d provided, and then set off on his mission to reconcile with his other friend. 

Hulk made his way up through the airlock and into the Commodore. It was chilly in there, much too freezing for humans—but Hulk was the strongest there was, and a little cold wouldn’t hurt him. Then Hulk sniffed the air and realized he wasn’t alone. Unless he was crazy or being tricked, _Loki_ was on the Commodore too. 

Instantly on guard, the Hulk spent a minute looking around the ship. Finally he stuck his head into the bedroom, where he was startled to find Loki dead-asleep on the bed—except maybe it wasn’t Loki at all. This person, who definitely smelled like Loki, was blue. He was also quite tall, almost as tall as Hulk. He had Loki’s general proportions, and roughly Loki’s face--but he was _blue_ , every bit as blue as the Hulk was green. 

Hulk was genuinely surprised, and felt compelled to think about this for a minute. It seemed to him that maybe Loki was a little bit like Hulk, with skin that wasn’t people-colored like humans and Asgardians. The gladiators from Sakaar were every-colored but the Asgardians were people-colored, browns and pinks and tans. Loki was blue. 

Hulk found he felt differently about blue Loki. The general gist of the recent conversation between Banner and Loki came back to him, and Hulk became vaguely aware that he was seeing Loki here the way Loki was probably supposed to be. Blue Loki wasn’t hiding, wasn’t being a liar, wasn’t tricking anybody. It also helped that blue Loki was asleep, so deep asleep he looked dead, and it was difficult for Hulk to feel hostile towards a peacefully immobile, nearly-dead-looking person. 

The words ‘frost giant’ came to him, probably from Banner, and Hulk narrowed his eyes, taking in the sight of blue Loki and gradually forming an opinion about him. “Hrmh,” Hulk grunted under his breath. 

“Puny giant.” 

Hulk grinned and turned to leave, thinking proudly of how easy it would be for him to smash Loki even in this new, blue form. Hulk thought how hilarious it would be if he roared suddenly in Loki’s face and woke him up, how terrified blue Loki would look—but then he felt a tiny flicker of guilt as he recalled Thor’s request that Hulk be nice, and his shoulders slouched a little, his lower lip tucking into a pout. 

_Be nice to Loki,_ Hulk thought to himself, still not fully committed to that idea. He looked around the room, noted the delicate lace of ice beginning to web across certain surfaces, and then thought of something. 

Hulk brought blue Loki a blanket, crouched at the side of the bed and carefully spread the blanket out to cover that lanky blue body, much the way Hulk had left a blanket over Thor—feet sticking out. Satisfied that this had been a sufficiently ‘nice’ thing to do, Hulk stood back up, nodded once, and crept off to resume his mission. 

 

Ever since Valkyrie had run into Loki in the shower, she’d been feeling a little…off. She hated to think that any of Loki’s ‘problem’ had gotten to her, secondhand, by virtue of breathing the same air as him or something. The Grandmaster had been many things—including an expert at getting people to sleep with him, by one means or another: those drinks were _effective._

While Valkyrie was perfectly willing to accept Loki’s rejection of her offer, she _did_ appreciate sex as a release and was starting to think that maybe there was nobody else besides Loki on this stupid ship that she could hook up with without feeling guilty about it. He was at _least_ as dirty as she was, even if he was infinitely prouder about it. 

The Asgardian refugees were definitely not an option, at least for now. She was glad that she’d helped save them, was able to recognize that maybe Thor and all this heroic action stuff had maybe kind of saved her too, but that didn’t mean Sakaar hadn’t counted. Perhaps eventually she could get to know some of the remaining Asgardians, see where things would go…but they all seemed so _young._ Heimdall was the only one she recognized, and the only one who recognized her. Probably a few of the eldest also remembered the old days, the days before Thor was born—but as far as Val could tell, there were very few of those left. 

As for the gladiators… Val supposed one or two of them might do, if she was drunk enough—there was a female with a flat-top that had already caught her eye--but she was worried that it would be difficult for her to stop thinking about how many of their kind she’d captured and sold to their deaths. For her, hooking up with a gladiator would be weirdly like sleeping with the sort of things you regularly ate as food. No doubt it would take some time to re-wire her brain after centuries harvesting slaves for the Contest of Champions.

After showering, Val had put back on her black getup from Sakaar—had carefully folded up her silver-pearl Valkyrie armor, with its beautiful oceanic blue cape, and stored it in a locker. She still felt more like a Scrapper than a Valkyrie, truth be told, although she’d taken quickly to Bruce’s nickname for her and felt much more like ‘Val’ than ‘Scrapper 142’. Her _old_ name, from Before, was so distant to her she had no interest in it—and had no interest in mingling with the survivors of Asgard. The thought of the questions they’d ask her filled her with disgust, more at the sheltered and highbrowed attitudes with which they’d inquire, but also at whatever lies she’d have to use as answers. 

And so, in that frame of mind, she drifted into the company of the gladiators after all, hanging out in a cargo bay and draining the ship’s reserve of grog. At least most of them wouldn’t bother to speak to her. 

The grog was nasty and had a low alcohol content, but it and basic meatcake were the two staples the ship had in large supply, and Val supposed it was better than nothing. She was idly watching a scuffle between a few of the youngest fighters when she felt the vibration of a familiar footfall behind her. 

“Angry Girl,” Hulk greeted her, and held out his present. “This for you.” 

Val’s mouth practically fell open, and then stretched into the widest grin. She accepted the bottle with both hands, and then immediately set it on the bench behind her so she could jump up and hug the Hulk’s neck. “Thanks big guy,” she said. “You’re the best.”

Hulk set her down, shrugging. “I know,” he said, sounding too-cool. Val quirked an eyebrow at him: he’d said ‘I’. She’d heard him say it before, but seemed to be a sign that he was _thinking_ especially well. 

“Is our Lord of Thunder taking good care of you?” Val wanted to know, already uncorking the jug. 

Hulk nodded happily. “Hulk take care of Thor, too,” he added. 

“Yeh I bet you do,” Val muttered in cheerful conspiracy, sucking down the first sweet sip. “Mm, that’s the stuff,” she commented, and passed the jug to Hulk. “Want some?” she asked. 

“Okay,” Hulk agreed, and was careful not to take too big a gulp. 

“You know we’ve got to watch out for him,” Val said, with more emotion than she’d intended to let out. “He’s the King now.”

Hulk blinked and passed back the jug. “…Thor is King?” It seemed to Hulk that something had been mentioned about that, but it hadn’t sunk in until just now.

She nodded, drinking slowly. “He may even not be terrible at it,” she allowed. 

Hulk thought of something, and a very gradual frown made its way across his face. “Can Hulk be King?” he asked. “Fight Thor, beat Thor again, and Hulk be King?” 

A choking laugh took Val by surprise, and nearly made her lose some of her precious drink through her nose. She wiped her face, coughed at the burn of the mis-located alcohol, and put a friendly hand on the Hulk’s arm. “It’s not like being the Champion,” she informed him, not unkindly. “You have to be born for it, or marry into it. Get Thor to marry you and then you can be the king. And Thor can be the queen!” 

This notion struck Val as so hilarious she didn’t stop laughing all the way through the rest of the jug. Hulk thought it was kind of funny too, but didn’t really know why—mostly he just liked seeing Angry Girl acting so happy. 

Eventually the alcohol got to the Hulk, made him sleepy, and he sprawled out on the floor to doze off. Val could’ve used another two or three or twelve bottles of spirits herself, but, she was tired from everything and felt a weird calm in her heart that she couldn’t quite identify. So she decided to follow the Hulk’s lead. 

One of Hulk’s massive hands was stretched out palm-up, and Val kicked the side of it twice, the way she might kick a tire. Hulk gave a little snore, completely not in response. Satisfied, Val lay down right there on the grimy deck of the cargo bay next to her friend, and rested her head on his palm, using his big green hand for a pillow. 

 

The Asgardians had been on the ark for a full day and a half when Loki finally reappeared, seeming brighter and healthier than he had in years. His original instructions for the rationing of supplies, shifts for the bridge crew and other essential posts were all being carried out, by Asgardians and gladiators alike. Things were running smoothly, with Loki at the helm. Thor seemed especially pleased to have Loki handling the details and providing the direction: Thor was the King, by unanimous agreement, but Loki was the Captain, and for the moment everyone was fine with that. 

And so of course there had to be an accident. 

Loki wasn’t the only person on board with magical abilities, and it just so happened that one precocious Asgardian child was trying out a spell which Loki accidentally walked in front of—

And right in front of everyone, he was transformed into a Jotun. 

Hulk was sitting at a table near the back of the cargo bay-turned-recreation-area with Korg and Miek when it happened, and as people screamed in terror and said “ _Monster!_ ” in that certain way, Hulk flinched and bared his teeth. He assumed the screaming people were referring to _Hulk_ , but then he turned and looked, and realized no one was withdrawing in fear from him at all--the creature they were all recoiling from was _blue._

In the next instant Loki fixed it, sending a wave of black energy out from himself in a ring, rushing through every Asgardian in the room and erasing their memories of the last three seconds. Once the wave had passed, everything was business as usual—there were a couple confused and befuddled looks, as everyone had abruptly forgotten whatever they’d been thinking of, but then they promptly resumed their conversations. 

Loki, restored to his normal appearance, fought to regain control of his pounding heart and fixed his eyes on the child who’d inadvertently just caused his worst nightmare. The little one looked back at Loki, face soft and unexcited, and gave Loki a shy smile.

Loki smiled back, as harmlessly as he could manage, and then raised his eyes to the back of the room, where Hulk and Korg were staring at him. Miek had a large blade pointed in Loki’s direction. Loki rolled his eyes—that memory spell, damn it all, only worked on Asgardians. 

Steeling himself, Loki made his way over to their table. 

“…I don’t suppose you three would be willing to forget about that?” Loki asked in his most genial tone, looking down at the table and then, a half-breath later, meeting their faces hopefully.

“Forget about what?” asked Val, appearing from the adjoining storage-bay with a tray full of oversized mugs of grog.

She passed the drinks around, very blatantly skipping Loki even though there were plenty of mugs, and took a seat next to the Hulk. 

“Loki turned blue,” Hulk informed her, evoking a long-suffering sound from Loki. 

“What, right here in front of everyone?” Valkyrie scoffed.

“It was an accident, and it won’t happen again,” Loki explained, downplaying it. 

“People scared of Loki,” Hulk said quietly, as if discussing something very grave. 

“Well, that’s because he’s a Jotun,” Val stated, chugging her grog. 

“Oh, a Jotun! Is that what that was?” Korg asked cheerfully. “I was wondering. Thought you looked slightly familiar—distant cousins of the Kronans, some people say.” 

“Keep your voice down,” Loki hissed, glancing back over his shoulder. Thankfully, it appeared no one was paying any particular attention to their conversation. 

Val gave Loki a pointed look. “Do the people still not _know_?” she asked in disbelief. She herself had only found out the details yesterday, through a conversation with Heimdall—but of course it suited her now to pretend she’d known all along. “Are they honestly dumb enough to believe you’re Odin’s natural son?” 

“My heritage isn’t exactly a secret at this point, but having heard a rumor about me and then having an actual Frost Giant suddenly appear in your midst are two different things,” Loki muttered. “I’m hardly surprised most people were terrified.” He was feeling unnerved by the way the Hulk was looking at him now, eyes all dark and _thoughtful_. Banner must have been very near to the surface in there. 

“Well, we can fix that,” Korg volunteered. "We can make a public announcement, make people aware that any Jotun they see around here is just _you_ so they won't be alarmed." He took a breath as if preparing to address the whole room. 

“Please,” Loki hated himself for saying. “Don’t.” 

Korg looked at Loki in surprise. “Are you… is it something you’re embarrassed about?” he asked, as direct as Thor but somehow much sweeter. “Aw, man—it’s not your fault if you’re a Frost Giant. There’s no need to be ashamed.” 

“Yes, I know,” Loki said, and sat down at the table with them, leaning across it on his elbows as if to share some urgent information. “But the Jotuns were the enemies of Asgard for practically forever and eons of fear and _hate_ can hardly be undone in a day, can they?” 

“…Asgard hates blue monster?” Hulk put together, in a very quiet, very small voice. Loki met his eyes. 

“Yes, they do.” Loki might as well have plunged a knife into the table as he said it, his voice was so sharp. Hulk blinked at him, frowning oddly, and Loki recovered his composure. “So please, let’s leave that subject for another time, and talk about something else?” He looked pleadingly from Korg to Miek, and then let his gaze linger on Valkyrie. She looked away. 

“Yeh man, we can do that,” Korg said lightly, giving the back of Miek’s exoskeleton a pat. “What were we talking about—oh right!” He beamed at Loki. “Hulk wants to marry your brother, and I think we—”

If Loki had been drinking anything at that moment, he might have spat it out. “Did you say _marry?_ ”

Valkyrie snickered into her grog and Hulk blushed a bright lime green. “Just joking,” Hulk grumbled. “Funny joke—make Thor wear a dress!” 

“Ha,” Loki said, and his eyebrows did a weird thing. “Thor in a dress—always hilarious. By all means, let me know the date of the ceremony, and I will absolutely ensure Thor shows up in a dress.” 

“Heh-heh, funny,” Hulk chuckled. “And…” he blushed even brighter. “…Maybe pretty.” 

Valkyrie was on the verge of collapsing as she struggled to contain her laughter—grog was sloshing out of her mug and clearly the idea of Thor in a dress, marrying the Hulk was the funniest thing she’d ever imagined. 

Loki narrowed his eyes. “Perhaps I’ll make our dear Valkyrie wear a dress as well,” he said dangerously. “Maybe then she’d have better success finding someone to share her _table_.” 

All of her mirth vanished, and she sucked in a breath, sucking her lower lip into her mouth with it. She stood up, and released her withdrawn lip with an audible little _pop_ , her eyes like black holes, focused on Loki. He smirked at her, unintimidated—anyone else would have been quaking. 

“…I’m sensing the ‘table’ reference is some kind of inside joke between them,” Korg muttered to Miek. “Are you picking up on that, or, is it just me?”

“Angry Girl wear a dress!” Hulk pictured it suddenly, and burst out laughing, a big green hand reaching out to thump Val across the back. It was hard to stare a demigod to death while the Hulk was jostling your shoulders, so Val gave up on that and shrugged, putting the coldest expression she could manage on her face. 

“I think I’ll find somewhere else to be,” she said smoothly. “As _this_ table’s turned into a club for giant monsters.”

Loki’s eyes flashed. “If that’s the case, I’d say you belong right here, Scrapper.” Loki put poison in his voice, and let it drip. “Or should I say more accurately, _Slaver?_ ” 

Val blinked, the only visible sign that she was hit by that at all. She straightened, nodding a little, clenching her jaw. She looked above Loki’s head, as if towards a horizon that only she could see, and she walked away. 

Once she was gone, Loki reached over and helped himself to the rest of her grog. There were other, untouched mugs around—but Loki took hers. 

“Um,” said Korg tentatively. “I think that was probably, a bit not good?” 

Hulk was frowning. “What’s wrong with Angry Girl?” 

“Angry Girl is sad,” Loki reiterated, between victorious sips of grog. “Because she’s realized that she’s been a terrible person.” 

“Now, please listen, all right?” Korg began, in what was clearly going to be a very tender admonishment. “With you as a Jotun, and me as a Kronan, and the Champion as a, um… what were you again?” he blinked at the Hulk.

“Hulk,” Hulk answered with a shrug. 

“Right,” Korg went on. “What I’m saying is, the three of us at this table, in the ‘giant monster’ club—sorry, not you, Miek—we’re the three largest and toughest beings on this ship, and that means, we’ve got responsibilities. We’ve got to watch out for the littler, softer guys, all right? They may act hard, but they’re very easily damaged. It isn’t okay to go around hurting their feelings.” 

“ _Her_ feelings?” Loki protested. “She’s the one who called us all monsters.” 

Korg shrugged, indicating that had not been a big deal to him, and Hulk took a huge breath. 

“Loki,” Hulk said, as if he’d been carefully building up these words for a while. “…it’s okay to be monster.” 

“…Excuse me?” Loki said. 

“It’s ok to be a monster,” Hulk repeated. “Green, blue, rock—whatever kind of monster. It’s okay.”

“What are you talking about?” Loki demanded, as something clutched at his heart. “Give me one good reason why you think—”

Hulk shrugged. “Thor likes monsters, so, not bad to be one?”

Loki felt like laughing at the sheer insanity, the brilliant-stupid simplicity of that, but instead his eyes felt hot, and then wet, and he wondered if he was losing his mind again. Hulk saw the flicker of emotions across Loki’s face, and reached a hand towards his shoulder. 

But Loki wasn’t ready for that yet—Hulk’s hand came down on empty air as Loki shied away, well out of reach. 

Hulk was looking back and forth between his hand and Loki, and suddenly a light turned on for him. “Loki scared of Hulk,” he realized. 

“Yes, I am scared of you,” Loki admitted in a rush. “As I well ought to be, after you once nearly beat me to death.” 

“But Hulk nearly beat Thor to death too,” Hulk replied. “And Thor not scared of Hulk.” 

“That’s because Thor is—” Loki forced himself to stop, to bite back all the truth that threatened to spill over. _That’s because Thor is braver than I am. That’s because Thor is an idiot. That’s because Thor is perfect._ “That’s because Thor is too good at forgiving people,” Loki said, which was also true. “Especially people who hurt him.” 

Hulk was looking at him with eyes that seemed _too smart_ again, and Loki’d had enough. “I’m sorry,” he said with a wry smile, looking back and forth between Korg and Hulk. “I don’t think either of you qualify to be in my club.” 

With that, he left them to their grog, and snuck back up to the Commodore, probably to cry for a while. 

Korg and Hulk heaved identically exasperated sighs. “What’s wrong with Loki?!” Hulk wondered. 

“Loki is sad,” Korg explained, “Because he believes his brother shouldn’t love him.” 

“That’s stupid!” Hulk exclaimed. 

“Oh yeh,” Korg agreed. “It’s a complete disaster. He’s a pretty good spaceship captain, um, good guy to work for, I mean—but an utter and absolute disaster on a personal level. He needs a therapist, man, or maybe a mentor or like a life-coach or something—” 

“Loki needs a friend,” Hulk realized. His eyes drifted up as if following Loki’s trail out of the cargo bay and back up through the levels of the ship to the Commodore. Hulk knew that was where Loki had gone, and a determined look settled onto his face. 

If Loki needed a friend, Hulk would try his best to befriend him.


	34. The thing about the purple ones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning! I'd tell you to prepare yourself for the creepiness of the Grandmaster, but you will never be ready for that much creepiness, the same way I'll never be ready for Infinity War. (But I am going to see it on Friday--don't none of y'all spoil it for me before then!) 
> 
> Also I lied last time... that was not the longest chapter. THIS is the longest chapter. Enjoy.

A short while later, Hulk found blue Loki sitting against a wall inside the frozen-cold Commodore, the opposite wall from the one that Bruce and Thor and Valkyrie had huddled against as they’d waited out that final hour on their way to Asgard. A little holographic video was playing in the air in front of him, the light of it a ghostly white in the red-dark interior of the powered-down ship. 

Blue Loki didn’t even look up as Hulk climbed into the Commodore beside him. “I guess it was you who left that blanket on me,” he muttered. He should have known a little cold wouldn’t be enough to keep out the Hulk. 

“Yes,” Hulk confirmed. Blue Loki was staring straight ahead at the little video. Hulk cleared his throat awkwardly, and sat down cross-legged, a short distance away. “…what watching?” he asked at last. 

“See for yourself,” blue Loki offered, without a trace of malice. He swiped a finger at a corner of the hologram, enlarging it, and scrolled up the volume. Hulk saw right away that it was a video of Loki, regular non-blue Loki, sitting alone on a white couch. Hulk sort of remembered then that Bruce and Thor had seen a tiny clip of this video, and that it had made Thor very angry. 

_“I am just delighted that you agreed to do this little, um, interview,”_ said the perpetually provocative voice of the Grandmaster. _“It’s kind of a silly hobby of mine but I always like to document my first encounters with especially interesting people—When you get to be my age, wow, sometimes it’s like I have more wormholes in my brain than Sakaar has in the sky, right?”_

The Loki in the video chuckled politely, dismissively. 

_“So let’s get started,”_ continued the Grandmaster’s voice. _“This is the land of lost and unloved things, as you know, so tell me, Loki. How the heck did a darling little cupcake like yourself end up Unloved?”_

Video Loki smiled and took a breath, no doubt ready to launch into a dazzling cascade of lies seasoned with just enough salt of truth but before he said a word, the Grandmaster cut him off. _“Actually wait—don’t tell me. I’m gonna save that for later.”_

There was a rustle, the camera angle shifted a little, and Loki reached up and just offscreen to accept something the Grandmaster had handed him. _“Do you know what this is?”_ Loki shook his head no. _“You don’t? Well, that’s, mmm. Put it on your neck, right under your jaw—yeah, right there. That’s it. No, no—don’t look so worried—it’ll come right off in a minute, I promise. Now, I’m gonna push this button, here, and you tell me if you like it, all right?”_

_“All right,”_ Loki agreed, his voice perfectly pleasant.

The camera zoomed in, stalking up to Loki’s face, to his eyes, and there was a barely perceptible sound of a zap. Loki’s eyes flickered—you could see the exact instant he felt the effect. 

_“Oh, no--Was it too much?”_ asked the Grandmaster in concern. _“I mean, I hope not, since that was the lowest setting, but still, it looked like you felt it. Are you all right?”_

_“I felt it,”_ Loki reported, again with the polite, dismissive amusement. _“And I’m fine.”_

_“Ok then, ok, if you’re sure…do you think you could do level two for me? Just, try it out?”_

_“Of course,”_ said Loki—and held his breath, and again his eyes quivered at the zap. 

_“Beautiful,”_ The grandmaster declared. _“Beautiful! Oh, my word, you are sensitive. Just… I probably should not even ask you this, but… Can we try level three?”_

_“Go right ahead.”_ Loki smiled, calmly bemused. But this time his eyes flinched.

_“Oh, uh-oh, That was too much—you poor thing, that was too much. Here, it’s turned off, you can take it off your neck. You’re all done.”_

Blue Loki stopped the video and noted the look on Hulk’s face, which accurately captured the nebulous zone from ‘uncomfortable’ to ‘horrified’. 

“Did you catch it?” Loki asked the Hulk. “The moment I decided to destroy the Grandmaster.” 

Hulk looked confused. “When Grandmaster did ‘level three’ to you?” 

“No,” Loki said, and scrolled backward through the video, to a certain point: 

_“How the heck did a darling little cupcake like yourself end up Unloved?”_

Video Loki smiled and took a breath, ready to answer, and that’s where blue Loki stopped the playback. 

“Right there,” Loki said softly. “In that smile. In that breath. In that moment I knew I had to ruin him.” 

“…Grandmaster pretty good to Hulk,” Hulk mentioned, with a little edge of guilt. 

“I know.” Loki had never sounded quite so subdued. “I know you don’t understand. But.” His eyes narrowed, and he stared at the frozen image of his own smiling face, glowing in the air in front of him. “ _Look at me._ Sitting there like I owned three or four worlds of my own already and was just dropping by Sakaar for a casual visit—dropping by to sweettalk an ailing relation from whom I hoped to inherit something. Like I was doing him a favor just by being there. Making no effort to conceal my ambition. The best little leech he’d ever seen.”

“Loki was lying,” Hulk knew. “Faking it.”

Loki blinked, and then deactivated the hologram, the white glow of it suddenly vanishing from the space in front of him. “I thought Thor was dead,” he said into the ensuing darkness. “I had no intention of returning to Asgard.”

“…Hulk wanted to stay too. Stay as Champion.” 

“Isn’t it funny,” Loki said without humor. “You, me and that Valkyrie. Thor didn’t force any of us to be here. Yet here we all are, locked in his orbit. Every time I thought I’d broken free, he,” 

Loki trailed off, abandoning his exposition. In the sudden silence, Hulk scooted over closer—and then sure enough he reached a sympathetic hand towards Loki’s shoulder. 

“This again, are you serious?” Loki asked, fixing him with a look.

Hulk hesitated, his hand held up in the air. “Hulk being nice,” he said awkwardly. 

“You can’t touch a Jotun, you’ll freeze your hand off,” Loki warned him. 

“Aw, cold can’t hurt Hulk,” Hulk declared, and carefully dropped his hand onto Loki’s big blue shoulder. There was an audible _crack_ as a sheet of ice formed at the point of contact, ice instantly encasing the Hulk’s fingers. 

Loki winced, expecting rage, but Hulk only seemed surprised. He lifted his hand with its instant half-glove of ice, looked at it curiously, and then crunched his hand into a fist—and the ice exploded into a puff of tiny frost-crystals, drifting down around them.

“That good trick,” Hulk said approvingly. “Make snow!” 

Loki rolled his ruby eyes to the ceiling. “If you ask me if I _want to build a snowman,_ I _will_ find a way to kill you.” 

Hulk frowned, thinking that seemed harsh, but then sensed Bruce sort of nudging a thought his way, and he got it. “Hah,” Hulk grinned. “Thor is Anna.” 

“…Thor is totally Anna,” Loki admitted in a low voice, as if despising that acknowledgement with a special level of hatred. Hulk patted Loki’s shoulder again, this time keeping his hand in place until the rushing ice had gotten most of the way to his elbow. 

“Brrr,” Hulk said cheerfully, and then flexed his arm and made the ice explode again, making a much bigger burst of frost this time, a glittery bloom reminiscent of a wintery firework. “Chilly,” Hulk remarked, clearly enjoying himself. 

Loki sighed and stood up, immediately conscious of how he was taking up too much space with his ungainly Jotun body. “I suppose I ought to do something about the temperature in here,” he decided. “I may as well do something useful.”

“Can Hulk help?” Hulk asked hopefully. 

Loki paused, and then said yes. He told Hulk where to find the things he needed, which Hulk eagerly gathered and carried up from the cruiser below. 

Just a short while later, Loki got the broken LSS to kick on, and heat began cycling through the Commodore. 

“That’s better,” Loki said, pleased. “Now we can turn back into people and get to work on something more interesting.” 

Hulk’s expression darkened. “People,” he repeated, as if his feelings had been slightly hurt. 

“You know what I mean. You turn into a human and I’ll turn back into an Asgardian.” 

Hulk processed that for a minute. “Loki wants Banner? Right now?”

Blue Loki nodded. “I noticed he’d set the kitchen up as a laboratory. And space is limited in there—neither you nor I could turn around in there easily, in our current forms.” 

Hulk filled his lungs with air, and then kept inhaling, his chest swelling up impossibly large—and just when Loki began to worry about what Hulk was going to do next, he let all that air back out, in one huge rush.

“Okay,” Hulk stated, as if he’d reached a particularly difficult decision. “Loki be friends with Banner.”

Hulk was starting to realize that it hurt a lot less when he went through the transformation willingly. It would probably never be a pleasant experience, but, with the two of them cooperating instead of frantically thrashing and fighting each other for occupancy, it was definitely much easier than it used to be. 

Back in his regular guise, Loki met Bruce on the other side of that handful of blurry seconds, waiting for him as he caught his breath. 

“Hulk helped you fix the life support,” Bruce recapped, as Loki and the Commodore came into focus around him. 

Loki nodded, and smiled a little. “Clothes?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” said Bruce, shivering a bit at the still-warming air around him. “There’s a closet back by the—”

“I know where it is,” Loki said, already heading that way. 

“Uh, right,” Bruce realized. He dimly recalled the video the Hulk had just seen, and repressed a shudder. Bruce had heard that Loki had been on Sakaar for weeks before Thor had shown up—he guessed he shouldn’t have been surprised that Loki knew his way around this particular ship. 

Once he was dressed, Bruce followed Loki into the galley. “So, what are we doing here? Magical science project?”

“Exactly,” said Loki, and started opening cupboards. Within seconds he’d found the glowing gatorades, and set them one by one on the counter. “We’re going to find out what these blasted drinks _do_ , and how to neutralize them.” 

“Wouldn’t it be safer just to jettison them all right out into space?” Bruce wondered, his forehead wrinkled in worry. 

“It would not,” Loki replied. “Things jettisoned off into space have an odd way of turning up right where they’ll cause the most trouble.” 

“Heh, good point,” Bruce laughed a little, nervously rubbing one hand over his face. “So is this, like, retroactive revenge on the Grandmaster somehow? Neutralizing his power?”

“Partially, that’s exactly what it is,” Loki admitted, already lining up shot glasses to use as beakers. “But also, he’s got a particularly ancient sort of magic in here, and I’d love to unravel it, just to learn its secrets. What do you say—are you up for a challenge?” 

“Umm…” Bruce looked back and forth between Loki and the rainbow of liquids, their lively colors, their soft innocuous glow. “As long as the challenge doesn’t involve drinking any of that stuff, sure,” he decided at last. He gave Loki his most earnest smile. “I’m in.” 

 

They spent the rest of the day figuring it out—Bruce of course was a complete novice at magic but his incredible intelligence more than compensated. He was able to find patterns and discern processes—and he was such a fast learner, Loki couldn’t resist teaching him one or two tricks. 

Eventually Bruce was able to wave his hand in the air and create, not an illusion exactly, but just a sort of a shimmer, like a heat-mirage. “Wow!” he cried out in delight, as he saw it happen and understood _how_. “That is actual _magic!_ ” 

It wasn’t, not really, but Loki didn’t have the heart to tell him. He gave Bruce a smile that was openly _fond_ , and felt a little brush of the soul of his mother. 

“What’s wrong?” Bruce asked immediately, the shimmer fading away.

“Nothing,” Loki answered, chagrined that Bruce had caught him as an open book. 

“…You looked sad,” Bruce said cautiously. 

Loki’s expression cooled to tranquility. “I thought of my mother,” he said, seeing no reason to lie. 

“Your mother?” Bruce asked, startled. 

“Thor’s mother,” Loki corrected, and then corrected again: “My mother. She was a great teacher of magic. She…would have been proud of an enthusiastic and talented student such as yourself.” 

“Talented, yeah right,” Bruce laughed, and tried the little mirage-wave again. “I bet Asgardian babies learn this stuff in their cradles.” 

“Thor never did,” Loki confided. “Despite his natural power he never learned a single spell.”

“Jeez, thank goodness you were there to back him up, right? Like, lucky to have a brother who’s good at the stuff you’re bad at, I bet.” 

Of course that thought _had_ occurred to Loki before, that possible motive behind Odin’s charity…but it did no good to wonder about it now. 

“Anyway, where are we? Let’s review what we’ve got so far.” Loki drew Bruce’s attention back to their project. 

“Pink one,” Bruce pointed at it. “Basic gender switch.” 

“For those who can’t do that on their own,” Loki added, with the slightest note of superiority.

“…Not gonna ask,” Bruce said, and cleared his throat. “Moving on. Orange one: party drug.” 

“Party drug?!” Loki asked incredulously. “What happened to ‘empathogenic psychoactive stimulant increasing the release of neurotransmitters with entactogenic effects’?” 

Bruce blinked at him. “Did I say that?” he asked benignly.

“You said that,” Loki assured him. “I made a note.” 

“Green one,” Bruce continued, pointing at the next drink. “We’re thinking this one’s like, a fertility/infertility thing. Like, magical pregnancy if you want it, magical contraceptive if you don’t.” 

“How useful,” Loki remarked drily. 

“The blue one, as we know, makes sure you’ll get laid, both by increasing arousal and making you seem irresistibly attractive to everyone around you.” 

“And finally,” Loki interjected. “The purple one, which we’ve heard is for compatibility between physically incompatible partners.” 

There was a beat. They looked at each other and both thought of it at the same time. 

_Like Hulk and Thor,_ they realized in unison, remembering. 

Round two of the blushing contest began in earnest. 

“How do… how do you think it would work?” Bruce asked in a low voice, beet-red. 

“Well, there are several possibilities,” Loki replied, crimson-pink. “…Let’s just make sure we’ve got the antidotes on hand.” 

“G-good plan,” Bruce said, voice rough. 

 

Finally, Loki was satisfied that their magical science project was complete. He scribbled something on a piece of paper (writing with an invisible pen, though the words appeared as if in ink), folded it into a little trefoil, and handed it to Bruce. “Give that to my brother,” Loki instructed, and sent Bruce off with a small portion of the purple beverage, a double dose of the corresponding antidote, and a glazed-over expression of wanton need. 

Thor was just taking his boots off in the captain’s quarters when Bruce found him. “There you are,” Thor said affectionately. “I haven’t seen you all day.” 

Wordlessly, Bruce set the purple liquid on the table, and handed Thor the note. 

Thor unfolded it, squinted at it, and read aloud: 

“Bigger, smaller or stretchier. I dare you to find out.” Thor frowned and scrunched up his nose, suddenly recalling the exact scenario in which he’d mentioned the options of ‘bigger, smaller or stretchier’. “Ugh, this is from Loki?”

Bruce explained, as best he could, and Thor joined the blushing contest and promptly threatened to win it. 

“Well, let’s go,” Thor said right away, crumpling up the paper and throwing it over his shoulder. 

“You mean you really want to find out?!” Bruce’s mouth felt too dry and too wet all at once. 

“I do,” Thor declared, and grabbed the glowing bottle. “Hulk’s up for this, I hope?”

“Oh yeah, Hulk is up for this,” Bruce said, already turning green. 

There was just a split-second, before Hulk and Thor each drank their shot of the purple stuff, where they looked at each other with such _intent_ it was as if there was about to be a rematch of their fight in the arena—except on much more erogenous terms.

Accounts varied, after that. Most people agreed there’d been a thunderstorm inside the ship at some point—there was certainly no shortage of thunder, the barometric pressure did cartwheels, most of the computers shorted out for a while, it briefly rained in one of the cargo bays--and a torrent of stray electrons out in space snapped and rushed and burst around the Supercruiser in an unprecedented occurrence of space-lightning. Some of the elders remarked that Odin-should’ve-taught-that-boy-better, but most people agreed the space-lightning display was beautiful, though the rain was mildly inconvenient. (Loki, somewhat appropriately, was caught in the worst of it). 

 

“Stretchier,” Thor reported over breakfast, practically glowing like a lightbulb. Loki, who was already sitting at a table in the officer’s mess, turned scarlet. Thor sat down across from him, exaggerating a cheerful wince as he did so. 

“Have you no shame,” Loki asked, already knowing the answer. 

Thor shrugged. “You dared me,” he reminded him. 

Loki shook his head. “I didn’t think you’d hijack every electron on the whole ship. You could have seriously damaged our systems, recklessly throwing your energy around like that.” 

“We tried to be careful,” Thor said. 

“Next time, try harder,” Loki recommended. “It’s a wonder the whole population didn’t figure out what you were up to.” 

Thor sighed. “Loki,” he said lovingly, as if about to bestow some heartfelt words of advice. “Did you ever consider… maybe people aren’t as bad as you think they are?” 

“No,” Loki snapped. “Because they’re usually far _worse_.” 

Thor shook his head. “You know I have to talk to you about yesterday,” he said, sounding very slightly sad. 

“Yesterday?” Loki frowned. 

“The memory spell,” Thor said. “You messed with the mind of every Asgardian on that deck.” 

“It was three seconds,” Loki protested. “People were frightened. I had good reason.”

Thor sighed again, and then looked up and smiled as Bruce shuffled into the mess hall, looking utterly dazed. Thor waved him over, and Loki, feeling slightly disgusted, gathered his bowl and mug to leave. 

“We’ll talk later,” Thor called to him. Loki grit his teeth. 

 

Later turned out to be that evening. Thor’d gotten new armor from somewhere, Loki couldn’t help but notice. It was much darker than Thor’s usual outfits, totally black. 

They discussed the incident from the previous day, Thor almost too calm the whole time.

“It’s better not to remember something unsettling,” Loki insisted at some point. “Where’s the harm in erasing one minute here or there? It hardly matters.” 

At last Thor folded his arms, studied his brother carefully. “All right,” he muttered. They weren’t getting anywhere. It was time to get to the bottom of it all. “Just tell me the truth. Why’d you make me forget about you.” 

Loki knew what he meant, what this was really about. Had known, all along, that eventually Thor would ask him about it, and that he’d have to provide an account. 

He turned away and looked out the window.

“Because you would have turned out to be less than you are, if all you had been was mine.” 

Thor let that settle, didn’t attack it, even though he disagreed. He stood next to his brother, and they looked out at the stars together. 

And then finally, _finally_ , they talked about it. They talked about the thing between them that had been there for centuries, the thing that everyone else constantly noticed and commented on and joked about, the proverbial elephant that stood between them whenever they were in a room together. The thing that was just as much a part of their relationship as anything else, even though they’d never once addressed it. 

The memories flooded back. They’d been younger—at their adult heights already, but their faces were young, Thor’s shoulders were leaner then, Loki thin as a sapling. Loki’s room. Loki’s bed. It hadn’t been intentional, the first time—but the time after that and all the other times, it was very much on purpose. Thor was devoted to him and into it and in love.

Loki decided it couldn’t go on. He couldn’t imagine a future where it turned out all right. He thought he was doing Thor a favor, setting Thor free by taking his memories and at first it was totally fine. Everything went back to how it had been between them before, and Thor never mentioned anything about it. 

Sometimes he’d look at Loki and it was like he almost remembered. As years went by Loki got confident and even teased Thor about it sometimes. At times it was like a standing joke. But there were no incidents, no reoccurrences. Loki fell asleep on him drunk one time and there might have been a moment—but then nothing happened. 

As for Thor, over the years he had recalled certain things in vague wisps of memory. He figured it was just weird dreams, nothing critically important, but gradually over time he found himself accepting that it must’ve really happened, at some point, even though it was still a bit hazy. By the time he remembered how he’d felt about it, and that he’d even told their mother about it, he had plenty of other concerns--battles to fight and friends to impress, and it just didn’t seem like a big deal. Eventually the possibility occurred to him that Loki may have tried to erase his memory. But then he’d never asked Loki about it, had never confronted him. Until now. 

“So it really happened,” Thor summarized, when everything had finally been let out into the open. “You and me. Long time ago.”

“It happened,” Loki confirmed. 

“And you regretted it,” Thor went on.

“I regret it to this day,” Loki informed him. 

“So you stole my memories of it.” 

Loki nodded once, looking straight ahead at the stars. 

Thor studied his brother’s profile for a couple of seconds. 

“I forgive you,” Thor said, completely matter-of-fact. 

Loki sighed, home at last. He shook his head, ever-so-slightly, the universe’s most bittersweet expression on his face. “I know,” he said, and then bit the inside of his lip, deciding to do a little better. “And, thank you.” 

Thor smiled a little at that, enjoying the moment. It was downright companionable. 

Loki, of course, was already thinking ahead. Just because Thor could let bygones be bygones didn’t mean anyone else could. 

Loki stole a glance at his brother. “…Do you really think it’s a good idea to go back to earth?” he asked, voice flat. 

“Yes, of course,” Thor replied easily, his arms still folded across his chest. “The people of earth love me. I’m very popular.”

Loki repressed the urge to roll his eyes. “Let me rephrase that,” he tried again. “Do you really think it’s a good idea to bring _me_ back to earth?”

“Probably not, to be honest,” Thor answered, not at all unkind. “But I wouldn’t worry, brother.” 

He looked out at the stars, at the endless possibilities they represented, the endless nature of the universe itself: endless, but for the most part, leaning towards good. 

“…I feel like everything’s going to work out fine.”

 

THE END

 

Author’s Notes/Credits:

Yessssss, I made it! It’s over!!! AUGH!!!! Many, many thanks to all my fellow fangirls out there who supported this story and left me so many wonderful, wonderful comments. I love you all. Seriously if you left me even one comment, I LOVE YOU. 

Now for some Shout-outs:

First of all, to my dear husband, who probably won’t read this, I love you and thank you in advance for enduring whatever rampage I go on after you take me to see Infinity War on Friday. I love you more than all the Thors and Lokis in the world.

“Sum durdles” at tendafoot dot tumblr dot com. You, my darling, have drawn all of the definitive ‘Thor-and-Bruce-cuddling-in-bed’ artwork on the internet and I adore it. I look at it EVERYDAY and it makes my heart explode with love. 

Special thanks to GratifiedNabiha for your enthusiastic support of this story early on. <3

Thanks to greasyGoddess for the A+ comments that brightened my day :D 

Travelledspace, you are AWESOME and I can’t thank you enough for engaging with this story—you’re definitely one of the best commenters I’ve ever had the honor to encounter. I’m still in awe that you found this story and latched on to it—thank you, thank you so much. 

Ball-pit-and-puppies girl, haha, your comments still make me laugh so much--you may be the only person I’ve ever met with as much enthusiasm as me! ^^;; (keep it up, kid, you rock!!)

Anonymous reviewer called “a” … WHO ARE YOU. Thank you a million times for your brilliant, perfect, super-motivating comments throughout this story. They never failed to lift me up and fill me with happiness for that fact that someone who GETS IT was reading this. :’) 

Gayac, thank you for being there for this whole entire crazy thing, always encouraging me, always letting me know you were there. I appreciate your support and you are totally invited over to my house anytime. :)

Hiver Frost Elf, you are my Grandmaster. Just wanted to let you know, that’s who you are. And I mean that as like a super huge compliment, I promise. ;) You’re this magical all-knowing wizard and you could totally seduce a Loki or two, I have no doubt. XD Also I love your writing. 

Tired Science Bro, I don’t know what to say, other than that I’m glad you exist in the world, and thank you so much for sharing your writing with me, and trusting me with it--it means more to me than I can say. For your young soul, your pure heart, your sense of wonder and your creative spark—and for your all-conquering belief in love and most of all, for your faith in friendship, which is the strongest love there is, you are my Hulk. 

Duc—duc eagle. Thanks for all your insightful comments and the many hours of discussion about these awesome characters, and I really hope you’ll keep writing that one story which we are totally going to talk about soon. :) You are my Valkyrie. To paraphrase a favorite poem of mine: _It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll, You are the master of your fate, You are the captain of your soul._

Last and best and most of all, mayonegg. You know who you are, and what you did. You’re a real person and you’re my Bruce and maybe my Mark Ruffalo too even though it’s hard to tell the difference sometimes. ^^;; Thanks for saying “why the hell not” one day and letting me literally show up in your life. Thank you for becoming my friend. 

<3

And now… what’s this??? Did you stop reading? Did you think it was really over? Haha, got you. ;)

 

POST CREDITS SCENE: 

It was Thanos’s ship. 

Loki wasn’t a witch, and he couldn’t see the future. But he knew what this meant. 

And then he knew what they had to do. He closed his mouth, which had fallen part-way open in fear. “Thor.” He had real gravity in his voice, and nearly tears in his eyes. “I know it’s a bit soon for me to ask you to trust me, but, I know whose ship that is, and he’s come to destroy everything.” 

“Yes? And?” Thor asked, a little bit of tension in his tone. It was a staggeringly massive warship. Their ark full of refugees wouldn’t stand a chance if that monstrosity was hostile, which Loki knew that it was. 

“Let’s blow him up,” Loki said. 

Thor searched his brother’s eyes for the joke, for the gleam of trickery, but Loki was serious. 

“Just how are we supposed to do that?” Thor wanted to know, loudly. 

“I kept the batteries,” Loki explained, eyebrows flinching down and in. “From Sakaar. I have hundreds of them, loaded onto this ship. I know how to make them explode—"

“You brought those stupid batteries?!” Thor could hardly believe it. 

“And food, and medical supplies, and able-bodied gladiators to help in the fight and you’re welcome for all of that, by the way—but anyway, yes, the batteries. I wasn’t going to leave them behind; they’re a power source!” Loki protested. “They could come in useful—the entire _universe_ loves power.” 

“Not as much as you do,” Thor grumbled. 

“Yes, about that,” Loki tried incredibly hard to look sorry. “I… may also have the Tesseract.” 

“You have the what!” It looked like Thor was about to lunge for his throat. 

Loki stepped back, defensively. “It’s not like I could have left it behind in the vault to be destroyed!” 

“What else have you got?!” Thor demanded. “Did you steal the Grandmaster’s Melt-stick from Sakaar??”

“Ooh,” Loki made a face, his lips in a little ‘o’. “I should have, really. I totally missed that one. But I do have, um, the rest of Mjolnir.” 

There was a pause. 

“THIS WHOLE TIME?!” Thor yelled. 

“It’s broken, Thor, what were you going to do, throw the pieces at me one by one?? Nevermind, that’s exactly what you would have done. Anyway, I have the shards of Mjolnir and they can still focus your lightning which means I can use them to make those _stupid batteries_ into an incredibly powerful weapon.” 

“YOU HAD MJOLNIR THIS WHOLE TIME,” Thor repeated. 

“Just the pieces of it, Thor,” Loki said, and swallowed. “And of course I took them, I kept every last scrap of that hammer. Because it was yours and she broke it and I couldn’t stand to leave it there on the ground, all…undignified. But in any case it doesn’t matter now, what matters is that we have to blow up that ship, and Thanos with it.” 

Thor took a breath, and frowned, and looked back and forth between Thanos’s looming ship and his brother’s eyes, which had rarely looked so determined, so committed. 

“Fine,” Thor agreed quietly. “You’re the boss—so whatever you need—we’ll do it. We’ll blow it up.” 

Loki led the way in the hasty construction of the most powerful explosive device the universe had ever seen. Bruce helped with the design, of course—he generally hated being recruited to build weapons but in this particular case, after Loki explained about two and a half sentences about Thanos, Bruce was willing to make an exception. 

They launched their Thanos-annihilating megabomb from the cargo bay, watched it float towards Thanos’s ship, then full-throttled every engine they had and zoomed towards escape. 

The explosion, when it happened behind them, incinerated Thanos’s ship and Thanos with it, and was so massive it folded the fabric of space itself into an undulating wave--a wave which lifted up the Supercruiser and propelled it forward through space in a long effortless glide. It was a means of space travel that no one, not even Heimdall, had ever heard of before. 

“…But why is it still carrying us,” Loki asked, perplexed, as he and Bruce and Thor discussed the ship’s odd predicament. “The energy from the explosion dissipated hours ago.” 

“It’s a wave,” Bruce explained. He gestured in the air with his hands. “Like, this is the velocity vector, and this is us, here—” he slanted one hand downwards, palm flat. “So we’re going like--” 

“Ha,” said Thor happily. “I get it. We’re surfing. This whole spaceship is surfing.”

“ _Surfing,_ ” Loki pronounced, as if it were the word he hated most in all the world. 

Bruce laughed. “Yeah, actually, that’s exactly what’s happening.” 

“Surfing in space,” Thor said, in the same amused voice he’d once used to say, ‘Hulk in a hot tub’. 

“And… based on what I can tell from the computers, we’re probably going to be able to ride this wave all the way back to earth,” Bruce said.

“Perfect,” Thor declared, beaming. “See Loki, I told you. Everything’s working out. We’ll get back to earth, tell everyone you did away with Thanos for them, and then you can join the Avengers.”

“What makes you think I want to join the Avengers?” Loki strove to seem offended but failed miserably. 

“What’s the ‘Avengers’?” Val asked, joining them with a bottle in her hand. “Sounds like a knock-off of the Revengers to me. Total posers, I bet.” 

“I can’t wait for you to meet them,” Thor said happily. “They’re going to love you.” 

Val shrugged, as if to say he shouldn’t get his hopes up, but of course it was too late to deter him: 

Thor was the king of Asgard, had reconciled with his brother, had met and befriended an actual Valkyrie, and had fallen in love with Dr. Bruce Banner, who was also _the Hulk,_ and Bruce and Hulk were both in love with Thor too and it was completely awesome. 

It was all too wonderful for words, even if there’d been some slavery and some end-of-days prophecy stuff and even a little tentacle porn along the way. Whatever problems now awaited them on earth, they were surfing a ginormous spaceship right towards those problems at top speed, because that’s what heroes do. 

Thor’s irrepressible optimism about the future could not be held back.

His hopes were up, and rising. 

The end.


	35. Nor shall we mourn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is set post-Ragnarok, at the start of Infinity War... so yeah...Spoilers here for Infinity War, read at your own risk. Also I should not write this, everyone else is going to write this, right? Dammit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record I would like to believe my Ragnarok post-credits scene happened exactly as I wrote it in the previous chapter. But, you know, if it didn’t....
> 
> Then this happened instead.

Loki was conscious to the end. He felt Thanos’s hand crush out his life—but in the very next instant, another hand grabbed him, and began pulling him up. 

That was all wrong, Loki thought. He should be falling now, Thanos dropping his body to the deck. Dying should feel like falling into the void of the cosmos again, maybe—but it didn’t. 

“Got you,” said a familiar voice, and Loki gradually realized who’d grabbed him. Her eyes were cold, her grip on his arm like iron. Loki was confused for a split second—he could’ve sworn he’d seen her die, moments earlier, diving in front of his brother and trading her life for his. She’d put back on her white armor, blue cape streaming behind her. Loki felt and then heard the sweep of enormous wings all around him, and then the horse came into focus—it was strange that he hadn’t noticed it right away, since he was braced against its shoulder as it bore him up. 

Valkyrie pulled him up further, until he instinctively threw his leg over the horse’s withers, sitting astride it just a little ahead of her. He hunched forward, his hands grabbing hold of the white mane. “Where’d you get this horse?” He demanded over his shoulder. 

“Never mind,” Valkyrie replied. “Just hold on. Ride with me.” She kicked the horse, spurring it upwards even faster, and the jerky motion of its wings sent Loki sliding back against her, until the fronts of her thighs pressed against the backs of his. She wrapped an arm around his waist.

Loki grit his teeth and looked over his shoulder again, trying to cut her with his eyes. “What is this? What are you doing?” He hissed.

“My job,” she said flatly. It seemed like they’d already travelled an immense distance. Loki tried to look back, tried to look for Thor, but everything was a blur. 

“What?” Loki didn’t understand. “Are you working for someone? And are you _capturing_ me? Like some kind of bounty hunter? Oh, that figures—”

“Just shut up,” she said, vaguely threatening.

“Take me back,” Loki insisted. 

“We can’t go back.”

“So much for loyalty,” Loki said in scorn. “You saw what was happening back there—Thor needs our help.”

She clenched her hand into a fist, tight against his stomach. “I don’t know if my fist will fit all the way inside your mouth, but if you don’t shut up, I will find out,” she muttered. 

Loki opened his mouth to protest further when a sudden channel of light opened in front of them, and he was briefly rendered speechless as he lost all sense of direction, the great winged horse swooping and spiraling towards their destination. 

It wasn’t a channel so much as a seam, a narrow seam of white-gold light cracked open as if down the middle of a great pair of doors, doors that appeared they might be large enough to let a whole world through, if they opened all the way. 

“Right.” Val sounded tired, and maybe slightly sorry. The horse pulled up sharply into a hover. “Off you go,” Val said, and threw Loki off the horse, straight towards the open seam. 

Loki realized that she meant him to go through it, into the light beyond, but he wasn’t having it—he put his arms out and caught the edges of the great door, hanging on by his fingertips, struggling to pull himself out of the light. 

Hovering above him, Val rolled her eyes, then guided her horse up and around in a great loop, jumping her way free of its back as it came around. She landed effortlessly right in front of Loki, her cape settling behind her. 

“Impressive,” Loki sneered at her. “Too bad those moves didn’t come in handy while we were fighting for our lives against Thanos.”

She put her hands on her hips, looking at him with an unnerving sort of pity. “You still don’t get it, do you?” She asked. 

“I get that you aren’t going to help me get back to Thor,” Loki said, pulling himself forward and away from the doorway with great effort. 

“Nor shall we mourn, but rejoice,” Val muttered, with begrudging reverence. “For those that have died the glorious death.” 

“Keep your prayers, Traitor,” Loki panted at her. The light was dragging him backwards, but he wasn’t beaten yet. “I don’t even believe in...” he blinked, suddenly realizing, suddenly uncertain, and squinted back over his shoulder at the light. 

“I don’t care what you believe,” Valkyrie informed him, and planted the sole of her boot against his chest. “Thor believes in it. And so do I.” She smirked as comprehension crashed across his face.

“Go,” she commanded him, and with a great shove of her boot against his chest, she kicked him in.

Once again he thought he should be falling, but instead it was just like taking a step back—and the light enveloped him, and then there was a great door, going up and up as far as he could see, and it was closed tight right in front of his face. 

Furious, he threw himself against the door, although he knew that wouldn’t do any good. “I swear to you, Valkyrie, I will get out of here, and when I do—“

“Loki,” said the voice of Odin behind him. “Welcome.” 

Loki froze, and turned slowly around, backing up against the door, keeping one palm flat against it as if afraid it would vanish if he stopped touching it. There stood his father, golden and strong and well, no longer weary, no longer broken. No longer full of regret. And standing beside him—

“Mother,” said Loki, and Frigga opened her arms to embrace him. He pushed himself away from the door, no longer caring so much that it vanished exactly as he’d imagined it would. He wrapped his arms around his mother, and she kissed his cheek and held his face in her hands. 

“My son,” she said happily, full of warmth and strength. “I’m glad you’ve come.”

Loki shook his head, a pained look in his eyes. “I can’t stay,” he said. “I’ve got to get back to Thor.”

“Nonsense,” said Odin mildly, and gestured around. “This feast is in your honor.”

And then Loki realized he was in a great hall, full of a hundred-hundred thousand warriors, tables piled high with food and drink. A place had been set for him at the head of the very head table, with his parents seated to either side. Frigga lifted a pitcher and filled a goblet with a clear liquid, something that smelled faintly of apples. 

“Drink, and stay with us,” Frigga said gently. “You belong here.”

Loki realized he was terribly thirsty, and wanted very badly to wash the stale taste of blood from his mouth. “...but....” he asked, his voice like metal between his teeth. “What about Thor?”

“He’ll be along eventually,” Odin said, with a genuine tone of understanding. “See?” He indicated Loki’s place at the table, and sure enough, there was a second place set right beside it, reserved for his brother. “You have only to wait a little while.”

Loki knew that waiting a thousand or even ten thousand years would barely feel like waiting a day in this sacred place, but then he felt his heart tremble, and knew that somewhere far away, Thor was right now in pain. Loki didn’t want to wait a day. Deep in his eyes, something glittered. 

He bowed his head, and gratefully accepted the goblet Frigga offered. He raised the drink of eternity to his lips. 

And pretended to take a sip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....and now I'm really done. Just had to send Loki on his way in style. :) This is THE END, of this story, for real, I promise. Thanks again for reading.  <3


End file.
